I've been stuck reading a deranged book
Where twelve year olds are *****,
And a small child is more philisophical than my professor.
It makes me want to become "Manda and the Giant Peach".
But instead I grab a steak knife and a peach from the fridge.
I listen to the rain on the tin roof.
It is a deafining constant.
It's the soundtrack to infinity.
Every other time you blink
You're naked in a bathtub in a mental institution,
With some lady named Mrs. White
Looking down at you as you throw a fit.
I throw good fits.
I hate to blink back to my peach and my knife and my book.
I might as well just throw another fit
And throw the peach away.
Oh Mrs. White?