Disgusting Holes
Running in dread from the The sickly secret of a Bee’s honeycomb, My nightmares are full of Buttered English muffins That morph into Deathstalker scorpions,
holes
"this is sixth form poetry, not Keats or Yeats"
Running in dread from the The sickly secret of a Bee’s honeycomb, My nightmares are full of Buttered English muffins That morph into Deathstalker scorpions,