gunk


Everything tastes like amoxicillin

It would, I suppose, days like these

You never know what is waiting to infest you

Hoping there is a place

For all this gunk to go

Once it is gone will it try to come again

Or invade another host

Who may love it and nurture it as a friend

When will the sun come ’round again

And will it be accompanied by Wind

Or follow some other sport of its own,

Leaving us to our own devices?

 

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