The Hypochondriac
Hey, bud, I see
you've got this
weird type of paranoia,
fearfully believing
that all the germs
are scheming to kill ya,
that's why you don't
trust bottled water,
not even tequila;
and you rely so much
on the power
of your disinfectant,
toward a slight smudge
on the doorknob
you're intolerant
because to you it's
the plague
lying there lethally dormant;
nothing wrong with
being sanitary,
with being hygienic,
but yours is a worrisome
worrying, bordering
on the psychotic,
soon you'll be scared
of inhaling air,
boy, that's gonna be tragic!
Copyright © Romeo Naces | Year Posted 2007
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