Don't Tell Me Your Plans.

don't tell me your plans.

i don't want to know

but, i hope you enjoy

yourself

and maybe fall in a puddle of mud

filled with the stroking legs of a thousand roaches

that all bid you welcome

as you enter metamorphosis

into your big,

gigantic,

furry

form

but it seems that you've already turned,

surviving without a head, months on end

come, let me cease your congenital amputation at its metaphorical root

I'm stocked up on

RAID,

vermin

Forget cyfluthrin, I'm talking zahl 20

cyanide