"I don't think I can quite stand it,"
He said, as he looked askance in the mirror.
Hairs in his nose protruding again - hankers
After a safe but effective method.
He then thinks of spermicidal jelly
And how the mouth yawns.
The grey marks on his collar and cuffs
Remind him of his lazy iron.
And half eaten apples rot
In terrifying unison
On the bedside cabinet.
Path to past, hashish to thrushes.
Madness, anger at his life's rushes.
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