No, you’re decidedly stuck to flypaper, baby,
twirling helplessly in a breeze on my front porch,
where I can barely hear your nasty buzzing,
since you’re kissing it firmly right as we speak,
and I clean forgot that I even had it set there!
Wrong again, little lady under your own lake,
now please take a moment to think rationally,
before you fatally drown in your rash blather,
spraying your ignorance as that sorry weight,
while all of their lifeboats are sinking as well!
Finally, but not in a good sense, jumpy contestant,
your sister won a prize of cancer when she was six,
never did keep count of those deaths at the reunion,
but, hell, that don’t really matter when you’re alive,
grateful the ol’ reaper had others ahead on his register!
God, you’re quite the mess of foul nerves, doltish girl,
don’t dare listen because you might learn something,
simply yammer yourself away as I roll around laughing,
tossing my bony fingers in the air for tracking your score,
if only you could be contained from spreading further!
Strike five, and the game is over, spitting honey,
even with these chances, you’d rather hang instead,
that’s why I gave you warnings for your protection,
as if that is relevant now with this mindless attraction,
feeling a way through an ugly maze which you made!
Sharwrong's Song 