today's a special day.
symmetry in its date.
good day bored one.
Why else would you be here?

Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
I love being cliche,
and being lazy too.

He has a beard.
He has a beer belly.
He loves to "help" humanity.
** ** **!!!
Merry Christmas.

A time where there is snow,
where santa goes ** ** **.
Many died in frost,
homeless,
enveloped under sheets of snow.
Goodbye world.
And here I am forever alone.

Patches the pirate.

Meek on the outside.

A titan on the inside.

Bringing win percentages up,

more than Rag shots can.

Shaking up aggro,

seasoning it with salt.

A legendary,

striking paralysing fear.

2 years across 7 seas,

in ladder- and touney-decks.

“Hahaha,”Ben Brode chuckled,

“I’m in charge” soon come to an end.

Knock Knock.
Who’s there?
Knock Knock.
Who’s there?
Knock Knock.
Who’s there?
Knock Knock.
Who’s there?

I grew weary of the world around me,
for it deceives me time and time again.
How do I know i'm not a prisoner,
out of desperation,
hallucinates he's at home,
cosy in bed, with
nice warm soup at the desk,
waiting for his master to devour it dead.
How do I know I'm not sleeping,
and this is a all a dream.
I could be a King,
under a spell casted by the devil,
fogging my vision from god.
I can't look back now,
and have to move forward,
discovering the truth,
a task too urgent to be discarded.
Braving through this nightmare,
kudos to those made it through.

Oh, Shadowmare,
I ride on your back,
please charge forward for god's sake.

Hopping over squares like a maniac,
oh please,
you're making me giddy alright.

Only at the outpost,
will you be satisfied,
horsing around playing mind games.

On the hill,
the enemy in fear, asking,
what's the stallion doing up here.

Soon the enemy king choked,
and died of a heart attack,
We won the war,
after all.

There are 2 lions,
striding on the surface on the earth
with golden silky mane.
1 in America; the other in Britain.
What a time to be in.

Why is poetry being considered feminine
Expression can be Wagnerian,
godly and bold.
Point them to the steeds of the Valkeries
I say

Hello poetry?
What poetry?
All I see is a bland formulation of "creativity"
Expressing the self?
What self?
Who determines the construction of the "self"?
The becoming?