Robert Ippaso

Turin, Italy

So you want to mess with me - In Trump's own words

God what a mess,
My head is spinning,
Each day more stress,
Am I still winning?

Wall street crashing,
The economy near stall,
The media’s constant bashing,
Pelosi’s new curve ball.

My plans are now in tatters,
Forestalled at every turn,
To do what really matters
Is all I truly yearn.

I’m gearing for a fight
The like they’ve never seen,
I use my mouth to bite
And care little if I’m mean.

I’ll tear each one to shreds,
Flail them side to side,
Get well into their heads,
Give them quite a ride.

Clearly they don’t know
The grief they have in store,
They’ll reap what they now sow,
It’s nothing short of war.

Like Bombers flying high
Releasing their payload,
Shells falling from the sky,
I’ll give them what they’re owed.

Cross me once
And risk my wrath,
Yours the choice
To take that path.

Cross me twice
And stay awake,
You’ve cast your dice,
What a mistake.
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