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neo May 2014
Once, while I was half asleep
I saw a tough and battered sheep
He asked me for some bandages
And I gave him a marshmallow peep


He looked at me confused and said
"This does not help me, I'll be dead
Unless you help me heal my wounds
Starting with the large **** in my head"


And so, still tired I rose up
And brought him a great golden cup
He said "Pray, how will this help me?
It cannot sew my wounds all up."


And then I had him drink some stuff
Made with fruits and bits of fluff
To help him recover from his terrible wounds
And also to grow healthy and become strong and buff


And the sheep drank the drink that I had prepared
Then he quickly leapt up, completely unsnared
and he cried "Oh thank you, you kind helpful witch!
You've healed up my wounds, oh how well I have fared!


Please take this small coin, it's the least I can do
For such a wonderful person as you!
Live long and live well, just one thing 'fore I go
Can you please show me to the nearest loo?"
(so much old poetry that the old narrator got tired of waiting and they had to hire a new one)
Oh, house on the hill,
Be the protective keeper,
Of the skeletons in my closet.
Hold them close
And keep them warm,
Within your tight grasp.
I see too many futures,
Ruined by my remnants,
Remains like bones,
Hung up — locked away.
My past up on a hanger,
Forever looming above,
It stumbles forward
Chasing down the present.
So I'll lock it away,
Hanged with a rope,
Carefully woven from denial.
The closet door encases,
Closed like opportunities unsnared.
Oh, house on the hill,
Be the silent prison guard,
Of the skeletons haunting,
My soul.
- C.c

— The End —