My enemies are gloating.
My expression reads revolting.
My cerebellum’s overdosing
on synapses guilty yet consoling.
My concentration is chaperoning
a tendency for disrobing.
My intuition is foreboding
of an expletive offloading.
My brain is emphatically bemoaning
the state of affairs under my clothing.
My conversation is engrossing
to the dead and always moaning.