Ode to Atrophied

Your sweet voice like that of chalk against blackboards,
Bubbles of anal wind gurgling from your mouth.
Your striking eyes like golf balls sopping with mucus,
Crying sweaty foamballs over misfortunes of an ant.

I see you are no earthly being;
Who could play the pink oboe with their elbows?
I see you are no slimy refuse;
Who else would have the courage to chew pillows of blood?

Sliding down up the roads of Boogerland,
You enjoyed the screech of jealous spleens.
As the world went down in flames of disgust,
You panicked as you started peeing in greens.