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Alan Maguire Feb 2013
Are my words turds ?
basically, do they stink ?
but sometimes I convince myself
and actually think

Think that they are grand,
great and gigantic
and even more awesome,
than that ocean called the Atlantic

But maybe, they're just steaming piles
of disgusting dog ****
floating in bowls of ***** dog soup

Eaten by gargoyles, goblins and grinches
and ludicrous birds known as blue berry finches

So, if you finish my book
then well ****** done

You truly are heroic
and should be crowned
Emperor of the fifth Golden Sun

You should receive ten million dollars
and the keys to un-discovered cities
be loved by mythical beasts
and fluffy white kitties

I hope you shall live for one million years
and be taught the language
used by prehistoric grizzly bears

You should be allowed to time travel
with that famous movie car
because you Sir or Madam
are truly a star
Alan Maguire Feb 2013
Her words stabbed me,
her shivery frosted words,
gouged my  eyes out,
scooped them out with the grace of
an armless ***** on steroids and
spilled my guts on the ground.

Then she left me to die in the desert of forgottenness.Where the scavengers stripped me to the bone
and the sun bleached moon, gazed upon my essence then drank deep and loud.

My mind is now vulcanized.
my mind has been treated with sulfur to enhance it's durability.
So, you can stretch it,
and say what you want baby
cos I don't give a ****.

— The End —