When doing some cleaning, I discovered a poem I wrote in high school as a senior. The creative writing portion of my senior English class wasn't that creative. The poems were basically mad libs without the part of speech. This is filled in from Langston Hughes poem, "Mother to Son." The underlined portions are from my demented mind. I had forgotten how morbid a lot of my writing in high school was.

Well, boy, I'll tell you
Life for me ain't been no silver plated chainsaw.
It's had law enforcement officials chasing me.
And nationwide manhunts,
And my picture in every post office,
And blood, lots of blood.

Bare.
But all the time
I'se been slashing, chopping, hacking, decapitating, and rendering limb from limb.
And the screams I've heard,
And that sickly smell I've smelled so often,
And the tools I have used over the years,
Where my only friends were named Slaughter, Masacre, and Inhuman Monster.
So, boy, don't you give up.
Don't you dare surrender to any police in the state that has the death penalty.
Cause you find that life really is like a box of chocolates you never know what you're going to get.
Don't you understand you have been chosen.
For I'se been on the FBI most wanted list for years, and no one who has tried to catch me has done it.
I'se still freee as a bird.
And life for me ain't been silver-plated chainsaw.