An Ode To Jenni Mann

Oh an ode to jenni mann To write an ode, oh an ode to jenni mann Would be good, and proper. Fitting. Fitting, not like the clothes your distant aunty gets you. They never fit. Ill-fitting Unlike writing an ode, oh an ode to jenni mann. Fitting. When the plutonian shores of my heart wash asunder my sadness and heart-ache at your loss I shall endeavour to beware the boars who gnash without remorse- they do make me cross Their eyes filled with the darkness of the Forest of Dean But who is the Dean? The Dean of a University? A cathedral perhaps? Or is his name simply Dean Fitting? Fitting. We had weed cakes. The amnesia induced seizure did not please ya Nor did it ease ya into loving me Perhaps if I had sherbet it'd be different. Sherbet? or Sherbert? I'm not a gambling man I shouldn't have left you in your seizure jenni, i shouldn't have left you Fitting. Now you're dead. And there's no amount of sherbe(r)t in the world that can bring you back to my nest of sexual decadence My quagmire of lust is brown and hollow - like an easter egg, only there is no joy here jenni. There is no fun to be had without you, all I can now do is reminisce of sherbe(r)t, boars, seizures and ill-fitting clothes I am stuck in a perpetual state of limbo, I failed to beware the burn, I am in an ever self-sustaining maelstrom of torment and sexual grief F*ck I am no longer, Fitting.