I can't think of what to write.

Hey, guys. Ok, let me give you a little background and then a poem. So, a while back Andrew, Neil and I were hanging out in my apartment. We were doing typical college things, probably playing video games, plotting to take over the world, or watching movies. Anyway, I'm pretty sure I took a sip of my water bottle and--instead of swallowing like a normal human--decided to inhale the liquid directly into my lungs. I'm clever like that.

I then proceeded to choke and sputter and cough up the words "I'm ok," while Neil and Andrew looked on inquisitively. After the ordeal was over, Neil confessed that he thought I was a goner for sure. Andrew; on the other hand, was cool as a cucumber. He soothed Neil's frayed nerves, "No way. Even if he had been choking for real, I would have saved him. I'm certified to perform emergency tracheotomies."

Neil and I were stunned. Naturally, I assumed that he surely knew the Heimlich maneuver as well. I asked, were I choking on a piece of food, would he have tried that first? Andrew then revealed that he had only been trained in the art of the tracheotomy. Neil and I were worried. I claimed that I would rather not have my throat split by a psychopath who jumps at the opportunity to flick a blade and go to town on the neck of some poor sap who has taken something down the wrong pipe. Andrew said it didn't matter. I wouldn't be able to stop him. I couldn't say no: I'd be choking. The perfect crime.

Neil interjected that there must be some sort of universally understood sign-language. A gesture, a look that says, "No thank you. No. No Emergency Murder from Andrew."

I died laughing and promised to write a song about an opportunist serial-killer. Seeing as I have zero musical talent at the moment, I instead wrote the song as a poem. Here.

Emergency Murder

Let me tell you a tale of a town far away
where men lie dead in the streets.
Most will report that they lie where they lay
due to hasty consumption of meats
and of bread, cheese, and wine.
This excuse serves just fine.
But if one stoops down to look close,
he'll note the mark of a crime,
a most sinister line cut into the poor victims' throats.

So, the mums tell their sons to remember to chew
lest they meet a man dressed in black.
He shows up with a blade as you start to turn blue,
when you can't tell him to stay back.

As he slices in, he looks up with a grin
and you think of mom's warnings 'gainst choking.
She told you time and again
But you didn't care then.
What, did you think she was joking?

She went on and on.
She knew all along.
But, you'd act like you hadn't heard her.
You gag on the irony,
the violent dichotomy,
this cruel tracheotomy.
Then lights out.
It's Emergency Murder.