Once upon a time, there was a male quite fair,
He wore outlandish clothes and had strangely dyed hair.
Upon returning home, he found great disaster,
A wound previously opened, needed a new plaster.
A trip to the hospital was required at once,
The doctors stated, thats not a wound, you ponce.
Walking back to the car, he tripped and fell,
Thought the man to himself, could this day be more hell.
The ground was home to an animal so queer
It started scuttling towards the mans ear.
Not today you fiend, he yelled and cried.
A swift shoe to the back and the animal had died.
The point to this story is confusing and grim,
As it has been written by an author fairly dim.
Reprimanded for a crime he thought so weak,
He was sentenced to twenty lashes across the cheek.
This story, in entirety, is mainly not true,
As is the fact, my hair is now blue.
A percent of one, could be equated of truth,
The rest is a tale to lead you aloof.
Procrastination, thy name is this,
The length of my story, well it takes the…biscuit.

This poem was written/submitted by Kieran Elliott.