Inside a Drum

I dreamt of a washing machine, In colours so obscene, Of shades of caffeine, It washed everything that was clean, To a shiny muddy unclean, It was part of it's routine, It was never to fond of hygiene, I found an old tureen, In gross shades of lime-green, With a three feet sardine, And I counted one of sixteen, Tiny little soybean, I found something murine, Frosting sunscreen, Between, A pair of nankeen, And jeans that were lean, With a 10 pound bean, Covered in fleshy dentine, As well crushed strychnine, Mixed in with liquid morphine, With a hint of codeine, To create a used vaccine, I excavated further into the drum, My left shoe stepped into gum, My hands found bottles of rum, As well a skull of a pilgrim, A sock with a 44 magnum, Guarding the used sock kingdom, Hear muses singing like a threesome, The kingdom’s national anthem, I saw a shadowy possum, Come out of a rectum, And I became bum, When it proposed a threesome Between it ,me and my right thumb, I started to have a symptom, That began to blossom And needed a valium, Or a serum, To rid of this irksome, Three things made up an outcome, I had a possum, Who thinks is handsome, My thumb, Excess sucking of sheer gruesome, Melting feelings to a num, And pressing against my sternum And now I feel really dumb, Stuck inside a drum