I'll throw up if I don't write this poem.
I'll lose my keys again over and over
until I throw up some more.
If there's anything left, you can have it,
but right now if I don't tell someone
about the 6 foot 5 woman with the
blue penciled eyebrows my brother
saw at work today, I'll toss my cookies
I really will.
I I I I I I I I, she bellowed.
me, she answered back.
Selfish *****, I repeat
focus on glasses,
focus on anyone but yourself,
Mrs. Maneatin' Butler.