Old people's skin sags
Because it is being pulled
To the Underworld.

I bought a bunch of wooden soldiers.
I bought them from the store.
And now a hundred tiny soldiers
guard my bedroom door.

So if you're a scary monster-thing
who wants to go to war,
my bedroom door is open.
I'm not frightened anymore.

Sully suffers from a stutter,
simple syllables will clutter,
stalling speeches up on beaches,
like a sunken sailboat rudder.

Sully strains to say his phrases,
sickened by the sounds he raises,
strings of thoughts come out in knots,
he solves his sentences like mazes.

At night, he writes his thoughts instead
and sighs as they steadily rush from his head.

I love you just the way you are,
but you don't see you like I do.
You shouldn't try so hard to be perfect.
Trust me, perfect should try to be you.

Life is an open book.
           Time is an oscillating fan.

I've had to learn to skim-read because
           before I can read more than a few paragraphs,
that ******* airhead comes circling back,
           blowing pages like a medieval *******.

The cool air feels nice, though.
      Sometimes, when my head aches,
I let my eyes relax
       and I enjoy the breeze as the words blur.

I'll have a cheeseburger.
Hold the cheese.

Hold it in your hand until it melts---
until it bears the shape of that voluptuous palm of yours.

Then put it on my burger.