Their throats were grateful gutters,
stoppered by the guttural guh-guh-guh
fostered by the culture of utter contempt.
Quit clicking! This runoff’s senseless typeface
dreams in bold, baby blue, powder blue,
indelible marker of sensitivity pink.
It doesn’t matter how you dress the Barbie.
Her proportions prop up the lackluster verse
Spray paint apathy chic on the goth kid’s hearse
He’s got tunnel vision- staring down an inviting esophagus
Warm, wormy wet, ribbed for his pleasure.
In his eyes, we were cylinders of fluid.
Were I tipped off by such sloppy proofs,
a Like Like who swallowed Link’s shield,
equipped with super suction,
I’d’ve steeled myself for the puncture wound.