Purple mentos scent wafting through the air,
Candy wrappers and milk juice bottles littered everywhere,
Knowing where it all went to, pinching tummy flab in despair,
Can’t exercise when I’m neither here or there.
Flipping another page of pointless pathology,
A yellow highlighter strikes across the page,
Groaning at another one of my lecturer’s lame analogy,
Mixing yellow highlighter and liquid paper to get beige.
The pink clock ticks as a reminder,
That it’s five minutes past midnight.
Looking longingly at the duvet cover,
Dozing off under the fluorescent light.
Three hundred topics and maybe more,
I stare at my study list in disbelief,
7am bedtimes, I do not adore,
“Just for the next four weeks”, a sigh I heave.
A bug floats lifelessly in my coffee,
I drink it anyway, too tired to care,
I won’t though if it’s a bee,
Then at my notes, I continue to stare.
Suddenly, a voice beckons,
A voice so faint, barely a whisper,
“I know you love bacons,”
says the mysterious whisperer.
Someone throws a piece of bacon to the side of my face,
“Ow,” i said, rubbing the spot, spreading oil all over.
The salty aroma of bacon tempts me to have a taste,
I lick my fingers and sigh, “Let me have another,”
The bacon which fell to the parquet,
Suddenly grows two legs and stands right up,
“Hola! you remember me from the buf-feh?”
says the bacon, as it jumps and sits on the edge of my cup.
“Well, yes, my father says I mustn’t eat you alot,”
I tell the piece of bacon strip, which still looks delicious,
Despite having life-like qualities – and still seems hot,
Sensing my lust, the bacon cocks its,- well,strip – and looks suspicious.
“You’ll never eat a talking bacon, will you?”
asks the bacon, the yellow stripes on its body, glistening in hope,
“Can I please have a lick? And just a little chew?”
I ask, pleading as my stomach juices bubbled like soap.
“But don’t you think it’s strange? Me? A talking bacon?”
says the bacon as it gives a cynical laugh,
The bacon then stares into space, looking distant,
It sighs, “Life as a bacon is tough.”
The bacon jumps down from the cup and lands on its feet,
Walking across my table, oil droplets splattering all over my books,
And when it wasn’t looking, the corner of it I bit.
“OW MUTHA FUCKA!” the bacon screamed, giving me angry looks.
Sensing that I had hands, far faster than it could run,
“No please, you don’t want to eat me. I-I’ll-I’ll give you cholesterol!”
The bacon pleaded and then threatened, as I imagined it on a bun,
The bacon turns and run, and smacks right into the wall.
I peel it off the wall with my fingers and give a sinister grin,
Drool drips from the corner of my mouth, splashing on the bacon,
“Ei! I’m getting soggy over here!” says the bacon, losing its sheen.
“NO NO NO NO NO ARGGGHH!!” screams the bacon as it gets eaten.
….clearly this is the result of studying. I wouldn’t say TOO MUCH studying. I’d be lying to myself. What was initially a melancholic poem, took a strange turn midway. ;\
Just layan me and clap your hands.