I cannot tell you what it is,
But inside me there whirls this storm,
Which I cannot control as it
Propels my thoughts away from norm.
This thing, it fires up in flames,
It scalds my heart’s desires cold,
It lifts my stomach up in rage,
Then makes my very skin unfold.
It hits my head with baseball strength,
Then cuts me into snowflake shreds,
Then wakes me to the spiky fence
Wherein the people I hate bed.
Those people I would like to punch,
See them crunch and munch on rotten lunch,
See them once, oh only once,
Say they’re wrong without grievance.
I would like to see them roast,
Like a Sunday's barbecue,
See them jump like blackened toast
And hop around like rabbits do.
Right then would I say, “Go, be free!
“Run along like little ants,
“You have paid your dues to me,
“And don’t forget to change your pants.”
