Taming of the shrew

Well she spent her days,

In ganja-stagnant haze.

Her skin wrinkled gray,

From the error of her ways.

Practicing solipcism.

Elder personality schism.

No comfort colors in her prism,

Just rolling in the hay.

She gave in and lied slack.

Let her concious build up plaque.

Let the evil black man smack,

The withered skin south of her back.

Senecent nightmares.

Ripping out gray hairs.

No solace found there,

Just a petty midnight snack.

A life misused and such a shame,

Made a shrew too easily tamed.

Love something to never claim.

Too many men forget the name,

ERIN.