2025-04-28 - 9:38 p.m.
Me thinks that on this solemn day,
A poem I shall write,
And little will it have to say,
but deeply shall it bite.
It will not use symbolic line,
nor descriptive word at all.
It's only purpose is to whine
because I am not tall,
to whine or maybe just complain.
Look at my hairy feet!
Hear the wind, and feel the rain.
Smell the rotting meat.
I think I've finally lost my mind,
or lent it out, on loan.
Oh Help me, Help me please to find
a brain that's all my own.
I want to rest, I need to sleep.
I somehow can not think.
I want to laugh, no cry and weep.
I really need a drink...
Don't fret, I used that just for rhyme,
I'm really not a drunk.
I think that it's a waste of time
to slobber down that junk.
Yuk! This is the worst I've written,
since I was ten years old.
That poem with the bloody kitten
freezing in the cold.
Eh, I guess that's all I'll write.
What more is there to say?
Sane I'm not, nor very bright.
Yet that I'll be, some day...
