Furniture

This morning, as I had my pretentious coffee,

I rifled through a pretentious magazine,

That came with the unpretentious papers.

Saw an advert for a store selling armchairs,

Their tagline was “Inspired by a dream”;

Amused, I wondered what furniture I’d churn,

If it were to be inspired by my latest dream,

A double homicide, a slasher on the lose,

With the knife dripping fresh blood,

Being chased by hungry hungry hippos.

Freud and Neitzsche, can you hear me?

Why do I always have red on my mind?

Yoga and Capoeira, Pilates and Jogging,

In Under Armour and no underpants,

Nothing brings more peace and joy,

Like dreaming of steel knife in windpipes.

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Grown-up

I asked my daughter,

What dya want to be,

When you are a big girl?

Her answer made me

Want to dig my own grave,

On a stolen plot somewhere,

And jump in, without a tank

Of Oxygen or Oxycodone.

What an oxymoron!

I didn’t even want the grave marked,

For she said she wants to be a “socialite”.

Asswipe

“I am God”, said an asswipe.

Blew his horns, sounded from a pipe.

All you bloody did was see a shrink,

Who helped you get outside of hell’s brink.

Like a Jungle-man beating his chest,

You proclaim that you are the best.

You can walk on water,

Do things like in the gutter.

Make wine out of pee-pee,

Glamorous gold shit-shit.

Fucking whores on a schoolnight,

I’mma choke your windpipe.

Don’t mess with me, dickhead,

Might light fire to your fucking bed.

Warped

Brain noodles,

Polynesian poodles,

Yahoo doodles.

Unibrow model,

Half throttle,

Fizzless bottle.

American Rubel,

Aristocratic strudel,

Lawyer mogul.

Scatting yodel,

Zero subtotal,

Rhyme, McDougal.

Bloody fences,

From your menses,

Diva cup frenzy.

Glitterati, Illuminati,

Take it nonchalantly,

What’s with the shite-shitey?!

Extra shirt buttons,

Who is that glutton?

Got’em by the dozens,

Bitch, pick your cotton.

Bleeding brain noodles,

Writing Warhol doodles,

Mush in your puddle.

Return, hillbilly,

With ass in chilli,

Boo! Scaredya totally.

Babble

Oh you don’t my cackling laughter?

Why, I will just giggle like Barbie.

Oh you don’t like my one liners?

Why, I will just say oops like Barbie.

Oh you don’t like my stinky bombers?

Why, I will just eat kale like Barbie.

Oh you don’t like my slam poetry?

Why, I will just draw hearts like Barbie.

Oh you don’t like where I’m going with this?

Why, I will just take my top off like Barbie.