Very Odd Sleep Deprived Poetry

It's late, great, why not create

 I have lots of stuff stuffed in crates

Papered to the brim of  a precipice potentially precipitous-- grim

About to topple by a soft breeze aloft slight and slim

Accross from my distant self I could attest that she tickled him

As his lawyer and closest confiding confidant

I'm confident he's not so deadly bent but consequent

To compliment opinion his tears are from chopped onion

Sprinkled with hand crushed novels after the reading was done

All I know is I'm tired like a car with crayon colored candy

Paint applied in special chocolate factories

Made not so much for transporting

But for devouring messily with boatloads of pig snorting 

Salivia slated

For a mouth appointment

Only when more body fat has faded,

melting out of my ears like hot liquid ointment.

The End

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