Sunday, 3 June 2012

An Evil Boiled Egg


My uncomfortable-ness stirs in my pants,
in my mind like a giant snake in the room
Everyone can see
jumping up and flopping down
What does this mean?
Is this what it is to be a man?
One minute soft, the next minute hard,
like an evil boiled egg
It points to the way I must follow,
my one eyed master
He whispers to me of girls
This one, that one
Content only by my death grip
I teach him a lesson until he relaxes,
satisfied only when I choke the strength out of him
He cannot be defeated,
no matter how pillows I hide behind

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