Kitchen Sink Analists (age 15)

I call this my Dylan phase, Bob Dylan that is. This might seem similar to another poem I wrote, maybe because it is. As always spelling errors are original to the script.

Kitchen sink analists
kept prisoner
in their 3 stories ideals.
The warden?
There own minds
spirityally deprived
bathroom tile mersonaries
sitting in ther self sufficent
presidebtal litter box
dumped on the highway
of emotional paydays
Majority spankings
consumed in their
mass holocastic pools
Hybriding the under mass
with souveniers poetry
and geniside ideals.