130 – Turdface

Poem number 130
.
Turdface

Bugger off you rancid fart
Your face is made of dough
Your ears are shrivelled, sweaty
And I really wish you’d go
If I’d wanted life insurance
I’d have purchased it online
Not bought it off the doorstep
From a tramp who smells of wine,
Go away. Get out. Piss off
And that’s my final word –
Sell your bollocks somewhere else
You nauseating turd.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s