It prickles, it itches
It's driving me insane
I quietly sit and suffer
not wanting to complain
It scratches, it chafes
I fidget and I squirm
My fortitude is weakening
I really must stay firm
It bristles, it burns
I'm one big pool of wet
Choking in this cabled fuzz
I backstroke in my sweat
It's hellish, it's acid
I think of homicide
This wooly piece of torture
choked me as I lied...
"Oh, it's comfy, it's warm
I couldn't hope for better
Thank you mom, I love it
this gorgeous hand-made sweater"
~








































68 old applause
