Living Life
In my lucid state of satire
Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.
What does that make of my wife?
For one who can be no closer.
Should she be considered friend of foe?
Is my one missing sock
An attack of psychological proportions?
Am i due to perish at the hands of;
A frozen frostbit phalange?
Am I a mark?
To be picked off the streets
To sanitize the glistening population
Of my illustrious town?
Does she push that broccoli
So hard, just to keep me healthy
Or because the price of cyanide has
Become comparable to a gallon of gasoline
And my little estrogen assasin can longer afford it.
Will my ring continue
To display my position with it’s embedded gps
If I continue to spin on the table so much?
Will I be slain late one night by her
Uber-Convertible B.O.B.
With embedded bone saw and removable 
Estrogen injection?
I’ve come to believe P.M.S.
Is merely a code that all women share
For their post male society.
Keep your eyes open gents; and up for that matter
The push up bras are only diversinary tactics 
From the chemical warfare of lavender bath beads.
I guess I’ll never be sure
If that look in her eyes is;
Pure sexual ecsatcy or the fantasy of the kill
But until she takes those handcuffs out with a darker intention
I guess I’ll take my chances
And lie with my enemy
Hoping for at least one more shot at good night pity sex.
And for you my baby doll if you happen to read this
Please don’t hurt me
And please oh please
No more Kate Hudson movies; and no more ugly dogs
In overpriced handbags.
Thats just beign cruel and unusual.