SHOULD’VE STUCK WITH THE BARBIE DREAM HOUSE

Wrote a little poem today. Goes something like this:

TRUE HURT
Pretty, pretty new fridge.
You promised to keep my bologna cold.
But you lied. You LIED!
Now I search for your replacement.
Since you died on my kitchen floor.
It's over.
Over.
I take comfort in only one thing.
A Taco Bell Chalupa.