Beside me on the table lies a small green stem;
This stem once with it carried a lovely botanical gem.
Outside the window yonder is a city caked in snow;
Such that all is cancelled and I have nowhere to go.
It's funny that this stem of green shucked clean and here laid bare
Gets mention in this rhythmic verse 'bout all that white out there.
For you see, my friends, that stem, to me's a sad reminder
Of a time (and time again) to me, that's so much kinder.
And now, of course, I have a day, no deadlines, dues, or debits
But that stem is what remains of a stash worth several credits.
A tragedy to none but those who also will partake;
To me, a dearth that stonewalls my voracity to bake.
Alas, I open this white page and 'ply my verse unto
Lament for being 'void of green...what has my life come to?

I know I know that guy,
I just know I do.
I've been seeing him for years.
He's got dark brown curls.
He's got bluish green eyes.
His face is familiar. I'm sure I know it.
I can't place it but I've seen it before.

I can look at that ******* for hours...
Just waiting for him to blink.

Why did you even read this poem?
If I don't care, why should you?

alas, i start a fire ahead of me
shield the flame as it dances
take a deep breath and release
it feels as good as it hurts
a dichotomy of shame
a conundrum from which
there is little hope for escape
and just like that, i become a statistic

those glorious stalks
of white and beige
contain my salvation
from the things i'd rather not think about right now

and each time i 'save' myself
i cede another few minutes to the void

here is not where i want to be
and so i opt to **** myself

i mean come on, if that's not melodramatic, i don't know what is.

Why walk when you can jaunt, why wander when you can meander, why run when you can dash, why jump when you can launch yourself, why smile when you can beam, why cry when you can weep, why regret when you can lament, why laugh when you can chuckle, why stare when you can leer, why say "leave me alone" when you can say "*******," why say "you're kidding me" when you can say "no ****," why say "rude" when you can say "*******," why leave out Oxford commas when you can just as easily not, why abbreviate Latin when it's such a beautiful language, et cetera.

So many different things to consider for a writer.

So no, mom, maybe you should watch your language.

The clock rolls past the 12.
I'll need to be feeling tired soon,
And still, I push back the sleep.

The clock flies past the 1.
I'm still playing the same game of Civ 5,
And still, I push back the sleep.

The clock careens past the 2.
That econ exam tomorrow's real,
And still, I push back the sleep.

The clock ticks past the 3.
I've just now relapsed on tobacco,
And still, I push back the sleep.

The clock runs past the 4.
I've let classes get ahead of me,
And still, I push back the sleep.

The clock quick approaches 5.
I need to sort this **** out,
Alas, I'll get to that after I sleep.

Not sure what'll happen at 6.
So many tasks to be done,
Course, by then I'll be fast asleep.

Before I know it it'll be 12 again.
I can't say whether I'll be awake,
But at least I'll have caught up on sleep.

You need to start doing things.
Look at everything you have,
Everything you were given,
And realize you've done nothing.

You were given this handsome face,
And you close yourself off from others.

You were given a healthy body,
And you refuse to take proper care of it.

You were given a brain capable of immense thought,
And you just smoke **** and complain.

You were given a rare knack for writing,
And you never apply it to anything.

You were given an extraordinary ability to learn,
And you stopped trying.

You were given a chance at higher education,
And your choice will lead to disappointment.

You were given so much chance to succeed in life,
And you're letting your personality get in the way.

This is an intervention.
You need to change your ways,
Or you'll end up just like everyone else.