Ode To Krystal's Straightener
Sitting on the chest of draws,
Old and worn from being used so much.
As hot as fire to a persons touch,
Burning someone in a flash,
Warming up like the sun.
Clamping shut like tongs about to flip steaks on the BBQ.
Could burn hair to a crisp any second of the day,
Money down the drain to have hair as straight as a ruler.
Slowly cooling down now,
Never to be used again.