My adoration is like hot trash
The gunk you find in your kitchen grease trap
Mine affection is milk, forgotten in the sun
Sourdough starter way overdone

Or perhaps the feelings I bare
Have me far worse for wear
More akin to blue cheese and burnt hair

These butterflies – they’re really just flies
Swarming a dumpster and the person inside
My fantasies of you are like rotting meat
Or Aiden Hutchinson’s post-game feet

I think it’s finally been enough
Smelling this is just too much
Being alone isn’t quite like a rose,
But I’ll take the bath with its garden hose

Once I’m free of all your stink,
There might be room for me to think
Then I wouldn’t write more garbage like this,
Because let’s face it, these words are sh**