There once was a girl named bucket
who, obviously, was always called fuckit
hey fuckit they'd say
with a nudge and a glare
why dont you come here and sukit
evenin' anons, just finished washing the bodily fluids of a dead man off my new bed,
aint life grand
Patrick, i never want to hear "Things went further than intended" ever again
There is however a poignant & poetic symmetry to laying in his bed 3 days after his death