I must apologize profusely for the last poem,
And that most racist comment about the metal on your teeth,
I didn't mean it, my dear,
I don't know why I said it.
So I'm here to write, now.
I loved you always.
Our friendship may be broken,
Like that one bracket in the back, (my bad)
But it can be mended, dear weeping pony!
Dont' weep too much for me, in your lost salivation, but keep me in your thoughts.
That one time at band camp, when first our metal touched, was like light into my dreary, sucky life.
I thought about lying down on the railroad tracks, and ending it all, but then only thought of you,
Would you lie down with me?
...on the railroad tracks?
Yeah, you thought I was being all sensual, didn't you?!
Well, take this, you jerk of a jerkwad!
I hope you die in h e double hockey sticks!
I'm so flustered by your lack of respect for me and my feelings, that I could
Spit!
I spit on you, weeping pony!
I spit on the nickname you gave yourself,
That you thought was so cool,
I spit on your shoes, that you keep so freaking shiny, because your life sucks!
I spit on your picture in the hallway,
With that cute, adorable dimple next to your nose, as it shines back at me, because you put too much lotion on it that morning.
I spit on your education, your gentlemanlike qualities!
I spit on you IN GENERAL!
All over!
Take that!
This is a broken friendship after all.
This poetry in my heart is splattering over the keyboard, telling me that I never loved you anyway, and anything that I say after this
That has anything to do with you,
Had better be nasty...
And I mean that in a bad way.
On the railroad tracks.
Dead.
