The Nightmare

Sometimes when I’m bored,
I think of many strange things.
Like eating the moon,
For we all know it’s made of cheese.
Though, it is so vast, I must proclaim,
That I’d have to purge myself with a tire iron.
Which leads me to think of deer,
I’m not quite sure why,
And it then makes me want to grow antlers.
As I stare at Larry, the sharp-toothed stapler,
I’m bombarded by baby-eating bats!
I run like the wind,
Though I’ve never personally seen it run before.
Then I’m a cloud, up in the sky,
Floating around without a care.
But, unbeknownst to me, I’m in for a scare.
I awaken with a sudden, horrific realization.
My unwritten poem is due today!