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Crestfallen I am Without the Fine Torso

Final entry of four for International Ghost Society's Best Bad Poetry Competition

By Paul StewartPublished 9 months ago Updated 9 months ago 2 min read
Crestfallen I am Without the Fine Torso
Photo by Catalin Paterau on Unsplash

We're all going to hell in a handbasket and you're paying the bills

said the official aficionado to the fucking moron eating the pills

Addiction and consumption be the death of us, sin and sin be us

auspicious is a word, as is deference, and another word is us

The man on the street is the man in the house--

#

So, you know the hellbasket is handcarved from he guts and bones

of anyone and anything that deserved to be devoid of guts and bones

sapiosexuality is something we don't speak aboit nearly enough

I said, of course, with all the meaning of a bored German huff

Puff the Magic Dragon was not the Dragon you think he was

I said, of course, with all the reasoning of a bored Italian, my cous

#

You know you've angered someone when they won't pay for your--

and instead only provided you with luxury derves aur

I often feel so often that I often feel so often that I--

You know the phrase "hell is other peepholes" right, I--

Feelings mutual schmuck, said I, of course, with, I--

then of course, we all looked like sardines...

#

Churchill once said "never, never, give with no loss of enthusiasm"

I said, to the disgruntled IKEA member of staff as he and I--

sat like penguins at a NATO summit, or summat, can't reamember, I--

#

I know what your thinking - get to the point,

wassock

I know, I know I need to stop thinking

with the cock

But the point, is the point of the end

of the day

She left me, for I knew not what

to really say

when she told me she felt a shift in her perception of life and felt befallen with crestfallen sadness and the deepest melancholy any one person should never have to suffer in silence with, she felt the weight of the shoulders of the world on her torso and what a fine torso it was

it was being the past tense, my past tense, for she left me the same day, sense left me, cous.

*

Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: This is the fourth and last entry into International Ghost Society's Best Bad Poetry Competition. I have included the links to my other three entries, if you're interested.

artGratitudeheartbreakhumorlove poemsperformance poetrysad poetrysurreal poetryFree Verse

About the Creator

Paul Stewart

Award-Winning Writer, Poet, Scottish-Italian, Subversive.

The Accidental Poet - Poetry Collection out now!

Streams and Scratches in My Mind coming soon!

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Comments (5)

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  • Mother Combs9 months ago

    I wish that handbasket was more comfortable and roomy.

  • Cock hahahahahahahahaha, sorry can't help it 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 Also, just wondering, are the typos in these lines intentional? "sapiosexuality is something we don't speak aboit nearly enough" "sat like penguins at a NATO summit, or summat, can't reamember, I--"

  • Okay, my head officially hurts again, Paul, lol.

  • John Cox9 months ago

    I think you take your poetic musings too seriously to write truly bad poetry, Paul. Did I say that already, say that already? Me thinks I have a bad case of deja ooh. Is your poem absurd or simply ironic commentary of our zeitgeist? I’ll let you be the judge.

  • Margaret Brennan9 months ago

    best of bad poetry? funny thing about that is I actually understood and liked it. good job!!

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