A bumpy night
Twas a bumpy night, late on a Sunday,
The bumping didn’t end till early on the Monday,
We bumped to the music, we bumped back and forth,
And when the bumping was finished, each bump did prove it’s worth.
I think back to each and every bump, as I slumber away in this new found cage,
Each and every bump was fresh and clean, a brand new book turning a page,
And it’s weird that I want to write about these bumps, it’s kind of hard to bring a bump to life with words,
But each bump was so alive, it screeched and fluttered like a majestic bird.
These bumps make me smile, these bumps pump serotonin like no pill could ever,
And as my receptors are slowly depleted, I wonder why I’m at the end of this endeavor,
Like a key that fits it’s keyhole with such a grace and ease,
Each bump did something to me as I swatted for invisible flees,
My worries were great, they peaked after the mountainous bump,
And as these worries took me, I wondered if I could regrow this stump,
For my arm had fallen off, and I realized it’s uselessness,
But this injury was nothing new, only was the taste of bitterness.
Now that the bumping has finally ended,
I stroke my heart which is not yet mended,
The bumping made me treasure and appreciate, that bumping is a joy,
But the bumping also made me realize, that bumping is no toy.
So I look forward to the next bumps, the next smiles and the next beats,
And with each future bump of mine, I’ll try to sweep her off her feet.
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