My purple crayon ran off with both of my wives,
And it's only through patience my presence survives.
My spider-web sweetheart's car's packed full of knives.
She said be what you want - you're still trapped in the hive.

My toy-box is open, brown recluse inside.
Too big to escape so he'll writhe till he's died.
I could capture him, flush him, and go for a ride,
But it kills me to know he'd be first to the tide.

My mattress is backwards, bed spring's got a stain.
There's piss leaking up from my nightmares again.
My teeth are receding, over-feeding my brain.
Purple crayon's writing poetry, drinking champagne.

Brilliant Mr Plastic

This is a style i tried when i first began to write, it didnt work for me. Thanks i enjoyed it very much.

Much enjoyed...cheers to you

Bravo!