Classification is incompetent. Poetry approx.
If a bard passes by here and angrily lifts the table and shouts: "What kind of ghost poem is this!", Then he will throw a handful of grave soil and leave.
There are so many things I want to say about this and that, but they are mixed but not refined.
Quietly eavesdropping through the cracks connected with life, pretending to understand this sad world very well.