Oh turgid crap that encases me,
soft and fleeting as the wind,
you have seen better days
Take, for instance,
My hot-blooded urge
The will of the rapid flame
Or cooking on "keep warm"
Rotating, restless and gripped
What if there is no tomorrow? It whines,
Pumping out a bloody trail
And what if I haven't seen better days?
Should I have obeyed the call of the wind
Instead of purchasing all this turgid crap?