Ode to a Hen
A Prose by Corset
Just yesterday I contemplated
never to pick up a pen again,
then I realized,
In a different reality
I could be a hen,
and I began imagining life
as a chicken.
A huge **** would wake me
long before the frost burned off,
climb on my back
pull out my neck feathers
make me birth a football
every **** day,
only to have cold human hands
steal it away while it's warming,
frying up my unborn child
and having it for breakfast.
Inevitably, a fox will show up
during the dead of night and
steal my clucking sisters,
but never
the **** bird that wakes me
before the sun rise; and I
having no sleep at all;
will birth another football.
now, I feel better,
don't you?
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 6:00 PM UTC
Ode to a Hen
A Prose by Corset
Just yesterday I contemplated
never to pick up a pen again,
then I realized,
In a different reality
I could be a hen,
and I began imagining life
as a chicken.
A huge **** would wake me
long before the frost burned off,
climb on my back
pull out my neck feathers
make me birth a football
every **** day,
only to have cold human hands
steal it away while it's warming,
frying up my unborn child
and having it for breakfast.
Inevitably, a fox will show up
during the dead of night and
steal my clucking sisters,
but never
the **** bird that wakes me
before the sun rise; and I
having no sleep at all;
will birth another football.
now, I feel better,
don't you?
