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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Other · #1960937
Written under the influence of Fresher's flu and too many Lemsips to count.
Not the Usual Saturday Night

Lying in a fever dream,
Of twisted shaped and blurred reality,
Multiple worlds in distorted times,
The single being in several lives,
The lost plot in unforgettable prose,
Wet powder and blunted knives
Hot through the butter of sanity.
The disproportionate proportion of measure unfound
Buried treasure floating above the ground
Sapient Pearwood drawn to the sound
Of the kingdom on Equals in which your crowned!

With a sneeze and a cough,
Inconsiderately simultaneous,
You're in your bed so unlike,
The World of the Coloured Spontaneous,
No planets, No Gods,
No heavens just snot
That no matter the plugging
Quite simply will not stop
The flu that makes you
Sweat and shake,
Makes your head pound,
Your whole body ache,
The room spins, like after a bottle of JD,
The painful throbbing bringing your brain to its knees!
The running nose, the cough, the sneeze!
Oh God Please!......
aahhhhh the Paracetamol takes effect.

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