The Pimple
My friend Victor asked that I write a poem about a pimple
A grotesque fatty bump hibernating amid a big hairy dimple
It's fun queezing the deformity until the pus pops like a weasel
Oops, the crud looks like the pandemic humourously named measle
How many pimples grow each and every day
How many survive to experience a truly natural decay
How many pop because of pressure and vanity
How many in fact resemble the fate of all humanity
So be cautious of what you ingest each and every day
Too much fat can the brain’s reasoning quickly decay
Dermatologists have substituted acne cream with deadly a virus
The Globalist puppets listen well to the protocols of Osiris
Thank you,
Joseph Pede
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