What’s in a label,
That I should be stable,
And left on the shelf like some spam,
I’m packaged so neat,
With contents so sweet,
But my best before date is a scam.

The nutrition table,
That’s part of my label,
Does tell me I’m crazy and blue,
The edges all torn,
Have got me forlorn,
My mind has me pickled in stew.

Ingredients listed,
Preservatives twisted,
Each serving is never the same,
Some antipsychotic,
Has made me hypnotic,
My label is changing its name.

Emotional sketching,
Is really quite fetching,
So give me a label with class,
Nothing wildly exclaimed,
Keep me aptly restrained,
So it never bites me on the ass.

A sensitive label,
Oh dear, what a fable,
It’s merely an acronym marred,
With fuel for the making,
My thoughts are partaking,
In moments so tragically scarred.

So what’s in a label,
That I should be stable,
And will I be left on the shelf,
With use by approaching,
My madness is broaching,
I guess I just labeled myself.

© The Complicated Bunny – 24 May 2021

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