chel
qwer is a qwe


qwer is an untrained little bitch
it qwe on the qwe and qwe through the night
and it's always qweqwe
for qwe at the qwe
seeing what it can qwe from qwe
when qwe has their qwe turned
when qwe is not looking

when qweqwe wants it to qwe,
well, it never does
and it never qwe
and it never qweqwe

I know what it takes to go through qwe
it's not qwe, qwe weqwe
it's qwe
it's qweqweq
it's a we qwe
but one day it suddenly all makes qwe
and from that moment on
qwe either look for it
or it looks for qwe

qwe is an untrained little bitch
and I've been begging for it, I tell qwe
but it doesn't come when qwe calls

I leave a bowl of qwe out
and a qwe of dried qwe
and you know, I never see it qwe
but when I check the qwe is qwe

and I still qwe the qwe

and qwe the qweqwe qwe
that qwe to the qwe
and qwe qwe
in the qwe
because no matter how hard you qwe
you can never qweqweqweqwe of the qwe

qwer is an untrained little bitch, I tell qwe
and what it boils down to is this:
qwe won't get along with qwe
and qwe won't get along with qwe

qwe WILL claim territory
under the qwe,
qwe your qwe,
while qwe tries to qwe
and think
that there are no monsters
waiting for qwe
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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