Next Month is May

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I’m going insane, being killed by boredom.
I’ve watched films, even licked some tom-tom;
I’ve seen a doctor who recommended a green gum,
Yet the only thing that amuses me is a pair of bum-bum.

If THE ORIGINALS were real, I would beg to be turned.
I wouldn’t mind having fangs or even horned.
Immortality would give me enough time to raise the fund
Required to fuck the rules and leave etiquettes burned.

Damn you scoundrels that murdered my father!
He promised me Europe to move my education further.
I’m left alone here, struggling up the ladder.
And mum keeps telling me I need to try harder.

Here lay I, expectantly on my back.
Totally deaf to music, raiding for the Ark.
The clouds are supposed to reveal to me a mark,
Nothing so far, these times are dark.

You’re a prince, brothers and friends say.
Yours is to sleep and eat, our dear Lord eBay.
Yet partner says if you’re poor, expect no engagement day.
I guess I need to start looking for job, next moth is May.

Lord eBay (and his thoughts).

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