a limerick to the would-be-king
Screw your curly diction, that covers up your fictions. The ones you wear, from here to there, amount to dereliction
It’s worse that they believe you. How can they fail to see through, and sense your lies? No sense here lies. They may not know, but we do.
Cream of Screams
I don’t like the smell of yells. What you've got boiling, beneath your lid, is awfully pungent. Maybe open a vent?
The Foothills Are Green!
Neat.
More soon.
Hi ho,
APS
🙌🏽