The book was just a ploy, a plot to deceive the young boy
for when she wrote each word, she certainly knew that
the syllable would prick him hard like nothing else could
The cover of the book resembled his face
an irony to his life, a peculiar taste
Few words written in bold sprouted out from his head,
the slangs he used were now at her bait
The book was wrapped and set out at lark
he gulped a bitter pill looking at it
for he couldn't even let out a bark
Dedicated in his name, she had very well cornered him at last
his whole life started at him, with absolute momentum, really fast