Vomit and hot water mix as well
as bubbles popping up past the bruise.
Puss passes through like hell
hath no fury against
bloody mary.
“St. Valentine’s Day Massacre meets Carrie” ain’t even as scary
as losing friends like this,
smoking cheap cigars and drinkin’ beer like piss.
But I still hold out to get it right,
get the right girl
still have some fun tonight!
Pull off a keen style of not trying… Am I doing alright?
They won’t force clothes grafted to my body anymore.
Leave tee off to relieve a strong fit, and
save the laundering off of your projectile vomit!

I will wait for you, as I reflect on the rutt I puffed myself into,
from an unfiltered cigarette.
Fooling around and drooling was the most action most ever thought to get…
From a mess and a Springtime fling I can’t forget!
What a springboard into another weekend.
Weeping from the rewards I’ve been reaping!
Oh, how much I gain from being the only one to abstain from the insane!
I get…
Less regret; no need to reset mistakes from being fake or too-hard plastic.
Disregarding movements so spastic
they hardly even make the sense you were aiming for.
She’s not so dense, just needs to sneak in a window to open her right door.
I chalk it up to MTV and another stacked bloody mary.
What a teaser, (rhymes with a full moon).
How to please her might be askin’ certain doom…
Go through the door on the left to her room
on the floor, laughter squirms.
On the walls is not a word to be read and heard.
So over my head, it can’t be understood.
Too many wasted opportunities to get it right…
All the words in the world, locked up inside.

Mike O’Toole