What do You Think About That?

There sits the yolk colored, moldy, sponge,
Moist, infested with maggots they can't expunge.
Water dripping onto the sponge, which soaks it up 'till bulbous.
Like a pustule that does secrete and fester, treacherous.
 
Malaise, coughing up phlegm,
Gurgling intestines, to a lugubrious blog, they have condemn.
Sitting at the computer, talking about the foetus she just lost,
While eating large curd cottage cheese she did smear on toast.
Quite a chunky snack,
She no longer felt queasy, with less stomach feedback.
As she puts each bite into her mouth orifice,
Her jowls, they munch, while sitting in her office,
And drinking her mocha, viscous.
Typing and typing, anxious.
Her mocha, she slurps, and slurps,
With mucus stains on her slacks, and burps.
With each bite, the cottage cheese does squirt,
With very little effort.
 
Bathroom's smell of previous vomit, and incontinent panties, vicious,
Unfortunately quite pernicious.
The toilet clogged, and some new roaches' housewarming party,
The girl was sick, but the bugs were happy.
 
What do you think about that?