At the gym I stab my limb
or stick the tine in my behind.
Potent stuff I don’t huff
or inject into my mainline.
I indulge, my muscles bulge;
there’s not an ounce of fat on me.
Puss has pits and pocks from zits.
I’m testy; testes atrophy.

I can’t move my neck without much pain.
Ow, ow!

Neck ain’t all that’s in the thrall
of juice; I’m in a biceps bind.
My patella’s a sweller;
it simply isn’t there to find.

Don’t snort coke yet from a stroke
it’s possible that I will die.
All my muscles feel like steel
because I’ve anabolic zeal.

I should purge me of this scourge;
immediately abate.
But I’ll not; I have just shot
into interstitial substrate.