It isn’t the first time,
And it won’t be the last,
Yet each sting,
Is worst than ones past.
Whirlwinds,
That are absolutely,
Stomach-turning,
Are they of God or Satan?
Maybe a little of both,
Either way,
They need a punch in the throat.
Near or far,
They’re like shooting stars,
Zinging past,
Like a lightning flash,
A bright little light,
In the night,
Before they crash.
You’d never sense,
Things going south,
It just jumps you outta nowhere,
And makes you throw up a little,
In your mouth.
As I watch it unfold,
It’s reiterated-
This is why people become cold,
Cold and black-hearted,
Swearing that never will another,
Chance get started.
They’ve outfoxed me before,
Left me blubbering,
On the floor,
But not this time,
Nope,
This time,
They’ll be the ones who choke.
Tired,
Just tired of it all,
Nothing’s left,
But to buy the pony,
They’ve failed the test,
And made their beds,
Now let them lie there lonely.