Horrid deaths, oh, nasty deaths -
- lurking in the bathroom!
A little cord, a bit of string,
Slightly, slightly rough.
A little tight, the little rope,
Slung so tightly round a little throat!
Wicked deaths, ghastly deaths!
Smelly powder, stinky dusty-dust,
Sour, bitter, and so sugar-sweet.
All that icky, gooey stuff,
Added to a cup of tea!
Wicked deaths, ghastly deaths!
Shiny, sparkly, tad bit pointy,
An ugly metal grey.
A little pointy, a little sharp,
Twitchy, twitchy, in a heart-shaped heart!
Horrid deaths, oh, nasty deaths -
- lurking in the bathroom!
____
Okay, basically I want this at the start of a new part for 'Lissie Darcesty - Saving Tiddles'. I'm no poet, and this is, like, my second post in the 'Poetry Forums'. Be as harsh as you like, tell me what you think about it, but remember that this is no real poetry - it's just a chant. I do appreaciate all critiques!
Cheers,
Esme
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