By Ben Vest
Leaving for the night, She’s in control, An evening of delight, Displaying her role, A time of fright, That’s her goal, Buddies too tight, She’s on a roll. Silly banter games, Pretending to be real, Her tantalizing shames, With the cards she deals, Placing on you all the blames, As she casually steals, Providing fake names, Her masks to peel. She claims to have it rough, Begging on her knees, Shouting she’s had enough, Demanding her release, As I don’t bluff, Wearing my heart on my sleeve, Her flame to snuff, In the darkness I believe. Going over my recital, My blades to sharpen, Showing no vitals, Burying her in the garden, Defeated this rival, Coming to a bargain, Slicing with my sickle. Within the margins, Of the association of homicidal, So when my parents arrived, Asking where she went, Neglected and deprived, Her time was spent, They’d be surprised, If they knew what I meant, No need to deny, She’s left without a cent. When you’re a child’s safety scissors, Tangled in her bush, Panic begins to quiver, The duct tape to shush, If you’re not the hedge clippers, Then you might need a push, Become an associated killer, Or just paddle that tush.
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