The Barber Shop

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

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.