Myopic Meltdown

You're thinking, what on earth
is she going off about now?
Well, it's the llama, DUH !
the one who sleeps on the bed --
along with the torn cloth butterfly,
the balloon doll of toilet tissue hair,
two newborn snugglies of fleece,
one multicolored garland of flowers,
a felt peridot bird with flexible wings,
and finally, the tiny lifelike doll my
daughter loved, strategically
postioned to torture me about
the little doll my daughter was. 
These things really do ring the daybed
in which I sleep atrociously,
even in the presence of such
prismatic solace.  I was actually
in process of tearing the room apart 
stud to stud, hunting for my glasses.
Everything fell when I moved bed
from wall - except, that is, the llama,
due to his long neck (causing me
to rethink the loathing of my own). 
But in a bituminous bifocalless bloodbath,
who'd really wish to survive?
Truth is, the balloon is balding anyway,
the bird stares insanely at overly-
curtained, thus black glass doors,
the other doll's stuck in a wicked wink,
the butterfly's more shred than thing,
the flowers droop like moody boobs,
the snugglies uncoil like satanic snakes
and the even the ruminant seems wasted
lately upon my throbbing ankles.
Blurry eyes make for blurry brains,
which makes for blurry words
and blurry bedtimes.
I may need to saddle up Llama
just to get to the blurry bathroom.
He'll brandish, of course, that
survivors no longer do others' bidding.
Wow.  It is one challenged optical nerve
that allows vociferous communion
with a lazyass smartmouthed longernecker.
I CANNOT SEE, for the love of pellets!
and am out of control, like I want to, oh,
deliberately misspell something, while
splitting a blurry infinitive, then end a
short-sighted preposition with

pottery by Foolie Slaving copyrut 3009