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Sick Poem of the week. Brought to you in part by Woolite, if it aint wollite it aint right. Now on to the poem.

this is a little ditty I like to call...

Abscess

Disgusting growth
Filled with pus
It is quite sickening
Only to us

You milk it for all it is worth
Devour its contents, deplete its girth
All your sick meal plans
Call cor more pus
Start hunting humans to
Harvest it from us

Bathe in the frothy fluid
Lick yourself clean
Your disgusting habit
Is not to be seen
Your sticky atmosphere
Makes you feel serene

Soon you cant handle the weight
Of your giant growth
It takes a life of its own
And devours itself and you both