Title: The Moana Lisa
by Craig from Cornwall | in writing, poetry, funny
So your Guinea Pig died
you lost your job
and that useless blob
you call a boyfriend chased a foxes tail
spilt into a new drink
slapping his work sly slack lips
over a new lass with waves for hair
and legs that go all the way up to twelve o'clock,
but that is no reason to cry so often
that the town mayor has had to geographically
place you on the map under the name; River Moan,
or for your cheeks to have become a constant red blemish
the ridged remnants of a beautiful village; post volcano eruption.
A rainbow is situated firmly above your head
a reminder that there are tears stored here
but sunny intervals also,
if I had a dollar for every time you moaned
I would have a whole bunch of foreign currency.
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