There are showers in Shrubbery Street
they are coming from my nose.
There's a fireman living in my head
who keeps switching on his hose.
Every time I sneeze,
they come in twos and threes,
I'm forced to my knees
and need to wear a bib.
The floorboards quake,
the ceiling shakes,
my poor body aches
and I think I popped a rib.
My head is filled with molten lead
my eyes are dim and watery.
I'm stuck in bed
feeling three quarters dead,
a lot worse than I oughta be.
There's a gun in my hand and it's pointing at my head
the cats don't come too near.
Any minute now I'll stick it up my nose
and squirt Sinex out my ears.
Queue You Too WIP
1 year ago
5 comments:
Oh what talent you have my dear! Sorry to hear you're not well. Hope it passes quickly.
xx
Wah-hey!! A poem! And a very good one too:) I find poems (and just being creative in general) easier to write when I am in pain or miserable or ill or something like that.
I do hope you get well soon my dear:)
Thats a good name for a band that; "Three Quarters Dead". I like that! I'm having that;)
JaexXx
GWS! This is blogger.com not snotter.com! ;-D Hope it dries up soon.
Bx
omg we're not in menstrual, but nosebleed synch! Sink. Fab poem :)
*passes the ultra soft kleenex*
xxx
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