Bad news.
the life that you've been planning for will not get here.
Ever.
Was lost in the mail
or stepped on
was smooshed behind a bookcase in some ugly beige room.

Bad news.
Your hair? The hair in the comercial? Ain't happening.
Skin, neither.
Let's not discuss your ass. It's better that way.
But your teeth aren't half as dingy as I thought they'd be.

Bad news.
Sometimes my creativity fails me
or was never there to begin with.
So, the end.