So, when I felt a little blue,

My hair, the pelt throughout the night.

I couldn’t tell my feelings, true.

The air, pray I, is stout, the light.

As I resist upon my bed,

below my sheets, below my head,

and under mattress and attire

There hides an orange, tiny squire. 

For every night he calls to me. 

He wants to have some brawls at sea. 

I try to say that folks aren’t there,

But he can’t get that through his hair. 

He whispers through the mattress springs,

We’d sneak out at the bedroom glass,

And we could do some naughty things,

And then we’d crank some evening sass.  

We’d steal some cars and ride a horse,

We’d peal some apples from a tree,

And eat some chocolate, dark, of course. 

And chomp the fruit and sip some tea. 

Then off some buildings’ roofs, we’d pee. 

And people, left and right they’d flee.

Although I’ve never seen the face

of orange man, if that’s the case, 

it’s still okay, I know he’s there,

For through the bed, he calls to me.

He yanks my little tufts of hair.

When all is done, he has some tea.   

This orange man, he’d kick my butt.

He’d laugh at me when night was bred.

He’d say that I‘m a lonely nut,

And gaffe and flee aback my bed. 

I ran away, and slept at sea. 

But orange man, he followed me. 

I flew to Spain, and drove to France,

I went to Russia, did a dance.

Nepal was nice to meditate,

This Orange man, he knew me well.

And soon he stole my silence, late.

He would have shadowed straight to hell.

And heaven, I could see, him too.

For one step forward, two steps back.

If I was red then he was blue.

What I would be, then he would lack.

I'd have my front, he'd have my back

if I had breasts he'd own the stack.

He haunts my dreams and tries my gut

he says that I'm a lonely nut

I'd ball my fists and cringe at night

and squeeze him out, so I won't fight

Where in the dark, I know he's light,

For he could float right out of  sight.

For he and I, we are so tight.

one day he's kind, and then he's blight.

He lives inside my toilet bowl.

He's always there, he's in my rut.

My sneezy tissues take his tole.

Sometimes my muffler holds his gut.

for days he is atop dessert

He's in my shower soap, the Pert.

A lonely man, he isn't smart, he tries to steal my day,

I put him in my life, a dumpster fire, and broken man.

This orange man can be, when, if and then I let him be... 

me.