You say society has butchered your arms and legs,
To sew you to the waist of a man (to make a monster.)
I say let them take my head
-And place you on my shoulders-
so we mite make
so we mite make
A more beautiful beast!
My love for you made me stupid anyway;
(I want to buy you flowers and shit.)
As if the sex organ of a dead plant
Would convince you to display yours
In a similar crude fashion.
So as we'd slip and stumble
On the blood of the ones we once loved;
The awkward and disgusting scene
Mite seem funny to me,
If I still had a head.
And should some white knight
Burst through that door (to save you)
The beast that we became
Would laugh at how small
(And weak) he is.
This savior you hoped for had it all wrong!
He would place
Your limbless body
In some bed,
Inside a palace,
With no need to worry
-That you mite go somewhere (Or do something.)
The solution I proposed
Makes more sense to me;
As dumb as I've become,
It's still simple to see...
That its better then writing poems (with run-on sentences)
That don't even rhyme
At the rite times,
Only to fizzle out, as I grow tired of writing.
