blah
blah is a blah
blah is an untrained little bitch
it blah on the blah and blah through the night
and it's always blah
for blah at the blah
seeing what it can blah from blah
when blah has their blah turned
when blah is not looking
when blah wants it to blah,
well, it never does
and it never blah
and it never blah
I know what it takes to go through blah
it's not blah, blah blah
it's blah
it's blah
it's a blah blah
but one day it suddenly all makes blah
and from that moment on
blah either look for it
or it looks for blah
blah is an untrained little bitch
and I've been begging for it, I tell blah
but it doesn't come when blah calls
I leave a bowl of blah out
and a blah of dried blah
and you know, I never see it blah
but when I check the blah is blah
and I still blah the blah
and blah the blah blah
that blah to the blah
and blah blah
in the blah
because no matter how hard you blah
you can never blah of the blah
blah is an untrained little bitch, I tell blah
and what it boils down to is this:
blah won't get along with blah
and blah won't get along with blah
blah WILL claim territory
under the blah,
blah your blah,
while blah tries to blah
and think
that there are no monsters
waiting for blah
to shut their eyes
---
Orginal poem:
death is a dog
originally written 7/8/98
Death is an untrained little bitch
it pees on the carpet and barks through the night
and it's always begging
for scraps at the table
seeing what it can take from you
when you've got your back turned
when you're not looking
when you want it to heal,
well, it never does
and it never rolls over
and it never plays dead
I know what it takes to die
it's not an emotional, rash decision
it's cold
it's calculated
it's a numbing void
but one day it suddenly all makes sense
and from that moment on
you either look for it
or it looks for you
Death is an untrained little bitch
and I've been begging for it, I tell you
but it doesn't come when you call
I leave a bowl of water out
and a bowl of dried dog food
and you know, I never see it eating
but when I check the bowl is empty
and I still refill the bowl
and vacuum the dog hair
that sticks to the couch
and spray air freshener
in the living room
because no matter how hard you try
you can never get rid of the smell
Death is an untrained little bitch, I tell you
and what it boils down to is this:
you won't get along with her
and she won't get along with you
she'll claim her territory
under the bed,
eating your slipper,
while you try to sleep
and remind yourself
that there are no monsters
waiting for you
to shut your eyes
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