Before this poetry rampage begun;
Early in the morning, hung over from the previous night of kush,
Hung over from the heartbreak she gifted my soul,
Nearing insanity and madness,
My mind pooped out several poems,
Without any warning, without notice.
First, the number one,
And then came number two.
I had to write this shiz so fast and clear,
My thumbs slowly turned all blue.
I thought that was all, is that the end?
What more could there be?
Then came an inspiration, this lady pestered Emma Jnr,
And suddenly, the count was three.
Completely exhausted, worn out from the exertion of my little thought vault,
My arm was now all sore and feeble,
Skidi-didi pa pa! out came another;
The total now was four.
Suddenly I started shaking, the effects of the kush still lingered,
My forehead wet from sweat, my armpits lubricated by body water,
Oh no, could there be, another poem yet?
My eyes have grown blurry,
And my hands became numb.
Suddenly I felt another thought come,
But momentarily I realized, the numbers didn’t jive
I had added one more; and made the count five.
Figured I was going crazy, or at least on the border.
But all poets know, this is a natural disorder – its germane to the Versed
So now you know the story
Of my Saturday morning’s poetic “huncho jacko”
I’m afraid it is not over; ‘cuz dis poems, diz lines just keep on coming!