sautéing spinach and writing poetry about what it's like being an ugly man

I'm in a bad mood.
A bad fuckingmood.
I wanna fuck someone.
Now, hard.

Bad days are like this.
Especially with cancer.
And bosses breathing.
Down your neck about desktops.

I'd rather be an ugly man.
Than an ugly potato.
But then again.
I just ripped a scab.
Off my nose.

stanzas are stupid.