Hell poems!!

molded plastic interjection

to monitor my superior throes

when Babs trips gracefully and falls to the pavement

I will laugh at her beauty and scorn her

sacrificing comfort for high-heeled fashion

then marvel at the marbel white calf muscle

Oh my superstition is a bitch

facing my inquisition with telltale eyes directed with a pleading glaze

purple and clear

as I lear with malicious glee

and ludely pluck another hair from its grip

the time is nigh

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