The torment, terror, nightmares.
Not of bloody wars.
Or of famine and death.
Then what is the actual horror, you ask?
The poisonous and decaying words,
Of my coaching chemistry class tutor.
Oh lord! Thy not fair.
Here I am drowsy, tired, famished (with terrible bladder condition).
Or who knows?
Dying from a punctured artery?
But thy nay care.
Nay, nay, a thousand times nay.
And leave this poor poor soul,
To receive the spikes of his organic chemical….umm…thingy.
Okhay….this makes nooo sense. Sigh! Must be the worst poem that was EVER written…in the history of the world!! (contact meh Guinness world record people!!) Not a single cell of the brain works in his class. It’s like we are hit with a freeze ray. AAAaaaaaaa!! I must have a brain tumour by now!
Someone please get me out of this coaching class. Or you might lose a
nutcase wonderful soul from the face of the earth. Gasp! *THINK*