Swollen

Swollen, swollen, swollen
Those lumps of tissue that grow like soft mounds
of painful clumps of yeast
Bruise here, scratch there
and a lovely clump of yellow blooming into that
wonderful red right here

And of course there is a method and rhyme  to judging my work. Of course.

I suck at poems, and yet I die, everytime.

I want me to be better.

I want want want want want want want not to work.

Lazeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

lazeee girl
don't expect success if your glands don't over process with your sweat.