Waddle waddle waddle
Old man slippers
Shuffle scuffle
A white doughy gut
Peeks obscenely from his
Partially open dressing gown
"Where's the toilet?
Where's the toilet?
Somebody moved it
Who moved it?
Who dared move it?"
CRASH AND BURN BORIS
That's what they call him
CRASH
AND
BURN
He tries not to
Remember that
But the words hit
Too deep
Lodged in his brain
Like the bullets
That lodged in the brains
Of those young soldiers
Sent to die
For a load of rich bastards
Like always
He tries to
Expel those words
With a bout of
Aimless anger
"I'll kill anyone
Who dares
Call me that again!"
And in that moment
He convinces himself
This thought
Has power
Strength
Real Brexit boom
But
He can't even find
The toilet
So that too fades
Suddenly his heartless heart
Slows
Surrendering
"Tired so tired
Back to bed, Boris"
I need to get back to bed
Bed, bed, beddy-bye for Boris"
Piss is running down his legs now
Soaking into his old man slippers
Warm for only a brief moment
Then quickly leaving him cold
Shivering
A death piss
He shuffles
Uncertain if he'll reach the bed
Then suddenly
His knees hit
The padded side
And he falls
Face first
Like he used to
In one of his drunken stupors
But this time is different
This time he knows
He won't get up
He can't get up
He's stuck there
Freezing
In his stinking mess
He knows it's over
But most of all
He knows
There's no escape
From what he's done
And he'll always be known as
CRASH AND BURN BORIS
