© 2008 By = Opus Van De Oplicter
(AKA Fayanora AKA Tristan A. Arts)
The elephants of misery and cantalopes of pain
Are wriggling like spaghetti strands
Into my very brain;
The buttercups of agony, sunflowers of despair,
Are tearing out the carpets
In their purple underwear.
My gnashing teeth are wound quite tight
And chattering away;
Their plastic feet are cold tonight,
There's little else to say;
The Reaper in her pretty dress, a Hello Kitty gown,
Threw a block of ice into a lake to watch it drown.
Oh my hair is full of nargles,
And my skin's fish-belly white;
I am so very hideous
I don't go out till night;
My only friend in all the world is made of balls of string,
Dried spaghetti, super-glue, and half a golden ring.
My face, it joined the circus
Back when I was just a lass,
I had to make a new one from
A piece of my own ass;
Anywhere I go, no matter what the place,
People come up to me and try to wipe my face.
I write in fluent English,
But speak only Japanese;
At least that's what I call the noise
That issues from my knees;
It sounds like Aramaic with an accent slightly French,
And I can only speak it if I use an allen wrench.
Oh woe is me, I can't go on,
I'm weary to the bone;
Every single one of which
Looks like a telephone;
I'd slit my wrists, but bony knobs keep me from that release,
I'm doing good to put an end to this disgusting piece.