Smother – a poem

The baseball bat you keep under your bed,
And the numerous restraining orders don’t matter.
Eventually you will be stone dead.
And I will have your head on a platter.
Yes, I will. Yes, I will. Yes, I will.

Who are you calling, my lovely?
Have you got the police on speed-dial?
They threatened me most fiercely,
When I sent you my blood in a vial.
Yes, I did. Yes, I did. Yes, I did.

You come at me with a kitchen knife,
You try to stick it into my chest.
Happily for me, I still keep my life,
And remain your beloved sex pest.
Yes, I do. Yes, I do. Yes, I do.

Why are you avoiding me, my dove?
Is it because I keep licking your washing?
It is just the way that I show you my love;
At least ’til the police give me a coshing.
Yes, they do. Yes, they do. Yes, they do.

Why are you hiding behind the door?
I just wanted to give you this pillow,
Stuffed with armpit hairs and gore,
I promise you’ll like it, I know.
Yes, you will. Yes, you will. Yes, you will.

Why are you screaming, my heart?
Is it because I keep stealing your clothes?
Or is it the gift of stale bottled farts,
That give a fright to your nose?
Yes, it did. Yes, it did. Yes, it did.

Why do you call me a freak?
Is it because I want to make a suit from your skin?
I really am quite meek,
And besides we all like to sin.
Yes, we do. Yes, we do. Yes, we do.

Why are you crying, snugglemonkey?
It is only you I want to smother.
Please stop your weeping, I plea,
Come here and kiss your mother.
Kissy kiss. Kissy kiss. Kissy kiss.

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About greebohobbes

All-round irritant, expert swordsman (loves lopping off the heads of ghouls), professional charlatan and outrageous wearer of black cocktail dresses...
This entry was posted in BekHobbes, humour, poem, poetry, writing. Bookmark the permalink.

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