I'm selling cheap sheep, sixty a week.
My girlfriend was preggers, but the fetus
left us way to soon. In a flood of blood and
mucous. She's OK, I'm OK, we'll try it again
some other day.
My photos will be on the sleeves of a new
CD by Modest Midget. Or so it seems. Wait
and see, I'll keep you updated.
I've got lots of shots on my Micro SD-card.
Developing one shouldn't be too hard?
If only autumn was less stressfull at my
abattoir, perhaps I'd find the time to work.
Though, come to think of it, Sudden death by
gunshot to the head might be stressful any
time of year. Perhaps I shouldn't complain?
I'm selling cheap sheep, at least sixty a week.
This wasn't a weird poem. It was reality.