My Freind

I keep a little matchbox
Behind the left bookend
Tucked away upon the shelf
And inside lives my friend

I bring him out at tea time
He loves to eat dead meat
His little eyes they gleam with joy
As he settles down to eat

He gives a little tiny burp
It’s really rather cute
I wish my friend could talk with me
Though sadly he is mute

He loves to hear punk music
The Pistols are his best
He pogos round the table
Until he has to rest

Then we play at hide and seek
Which drives me from my mind
For as my friend is very wee
He’s really hard to find

Then with his little tiny mouth
He yawns without a peep
Then pops into his box again
And settles down to sleep

He’s really rather funky
I dyed his head bright green
He is the greatest maggot
That I have ever seen

I know that soon he will change
Grow wings and fly around
It might be hard to cope then
With that buzz buzz buzzing sound

He’ll eat his fill of jobbies
And filthy rancid things
I don’t know if I’ll like him then
And all the dirt he brings

He’ll land upon my dinner plate
And puke his load up there
Spreading germs aplenty
I feel I shall despair

So fare thee well my little one
You’ve been a faithful friend
Though I cannot love you anymore
And your life it now must end

Be at peace I whispered
Your sleep shall never stop
As round my squeezing fingers
His innards all went pop

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About tongnaboot

Just somebody else with time on their hands and a head full of nonsense.
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