Cricket's Boogers

this is what I believe

I first made your acquaintance back in 2021
When Leah claimed a Cat Cafe the finest kind of fun
Among my zoomer sheilas she was Rutherford B. Hayes
An avid friend to felines (whose sole human friends were gays)

As I stepped into your boardinghouse I’ll own it felt uncanny
To be given my hot chocolate by an indigo-haired tranny
But while Leah would remember you, my eyes were on another
I was fixing to abscond with your immense tuxedoed brother 

Brilliant Beau seemed like a hound in there: vivacious, tail so waggy
I imagined him my bachelor bro—not loud, emotive, faggy
And so when I did retrieve him, I thought twice when they proposed
That I also take the tabby runt with boogers in his nose

The tranny called it “allergies,” but lying is their art
And the fact you were Half Off belied the falsehood in his heart
Just a simple search on Google would corroborate my gut
You were plagued with feline herpes—my new kitty was a slut!

Cricket, why are you so clingy—ever desperate to cuddle?
So insistent to submerge me in your rancid mucus puddle?
Did your mama cat withhold her teat? Is that why you’re a runt?
Are your maladies the doing of some frigid selfish cunt?

In the end it doesn’t matter, Crick—you’ve bridged my hateful chasm
Irrespective of the presence of your nasal ectoplasm
Yet fair Leah is retarded, knowing not what’s meant by “chronic”
And insisted we’d forever purge your snot with the right tonic
…is that why she ghosted me?

Does she see me as a churlish chud who dithers and neglects?
Or did I just hurt her feelings when I slapped her during sex?
Did her eviler fag roommate slay their household grisly-graphic?
Or are fickle 22 year-olds just drawn to pleasures sapphic?

I could never shed a tear for one so nondescript and callow
Any fondness that I felt for her? Performative and shallow.
If there’s any girl I loved back then—whose loss was cause for fear
It’s that former whore from redscarepod who killed herself last year

But alas, she never met you, Crick—my Borderline raped Kraut
Since my plans to fuck and wife her up were spoiled by The Lout
We just spoke all day on whatsapp hoping noise might dull the pain
As I lost myself in meth and gash and she went round the drain
I should have started my Substack a year earlier.

You know what really irks me, Crick? What banishes my glee?
It’s the fact you cuddle all these sluts no differently than me.
See, your brother’s love is true and chaste—his heart a prize that’s won
But for you it’s mere incontinence. What boundaries have you? None!

Yet booger-runts are birthed by fate, just like tuxedoed toms
It’s absurd to scorn the agent. I scorn rapists; I scorn moms.
For you need to learn to love the Thorns if you would love the Rose
So I’ll stick my dick in crazy
And I’ll wipe my Cricket’s nose