Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
nick armbrister Oct 2023
China Computer
The laptop was made in the usual place
It was substandard crap designed to fail
With a charger that worked half the time
With a screen that was only half bright
With a keyboard only half sensitive
With a mouse that was half frozen
With a speaker that was only half loud
You get the idea of this piece of junk
Nothing but crap sold by the million
Mass produced throwaway *******
Soon to be dumped in the landfill!
He was the most tastiest , that she'd craved so much for
but was the most unhealthiest , dangerous amour..
Just like the tastiest junk foodzz
nick armbrister Sep 2021
Made In China
Your electrical items stop working one by one
First the kettle stops boiling even tho the red light’s on
Then your microwave stops heating tho it turns round
It gets fixed and works for a week then is totally dead
As for your TV it turns on but has a single line across it
The VHS video player ate the **** tape and jammed
Your radio gets nothing but static on all channels
The mobile phone charges but dies after 3 minutes
The other charger that lights up but doesn’t charge
Red LOS modem light means no connection
Along with a new fan with a burnt out motor
Your car radio eats tapes ejects CDs and smokes
The aircon is clunky and spreads a virus killing us
All items made in Red China sub standard parts junk
Unskilled low paid slave labour don’t give a ****
Don’t buy anything made in Red China its crap
Seth Milliman Feb 2021
The junk of love,
A notion perspiring.
Wanted by few,
Left all those desiring.
A torment unchecked,
By the few who flow with it.
Sweated out till you break,
Keeping the movement brewing.
This ***** love,
While one abates.
Another struggles to master its gates,
The end twiddling like thumbs.
Till the next thing arrives,
Breath kept in motion.
Don’t lose that drive,
So mend it or lose it.
Drive past,
Don’t abuse it.
This junk doesn’t last all the time,
No ***** will heal it.
Neither will those who appeal to it,
The wrong junk to have in your life.
Andy Chunn Oct 2020
Rusty cans and unknown skeletons
Once useful in structure and convenience
Now sculpture the red clay and pine knots
Of the hidden gateway to the backwoods.

My memory loses the battle
With a toy cash register whose numbers
Still shine black on white and flash higher
As they display, and the bells jingle.

Tires and more tires carry worn treads
With water greasy from time and nature’s
Slow and steady return to her own way
Sloshing willingly into my shoes.

Mats of old shingles once weathering
Storms and sunshine now lie quietly
Clinging to one another like lost children
Cowering in their barren vacuum of loneliness.

Old men with tales of battles
And stories of crops, and cattle, and kings
Probably sat in that old chair
With whittled arms and broken legs.

Sporadic visits teach a wondering history
More mystical and convincing
Than the fact-riddled pages of tomorrow’s assignment
Or the tainted explanations of our teachers.
A Simillacrum Jul 2019
clearly, the days slip past
i nearly lasted, keeping track
tags and descriptions, each one placed
as if a benefit falls upon the lot
for drawing connective lines
god's dead, god's not dead,
i'm god, the god of sand,
ephemera at my command
but what's it mean? these things
take time, but not seriously, because
the sun hits the wax on a paper cup
and it blinds us from the bushes
and so low, can't care
so low, lone, done dead
can't care for upsides
but asides and sideways
A Simillacrum Jun 2019
just a little bit more, i said
looking at myself in health
but wonder now is it wealth
if the utter dregs
living now, too, never dead
living with no overhead
1:1 butter bread, just a little more
then i can ******* afford
that little bit more affordable
life extension business
which is it then, idiot,
social suicide or death by
getting left behind?
survival of the fittest? ****
then, i'm unfit as ****, cheap,
fit to ****, fit to ******, ****** fist
visions or is it not a dream?
deep as deep in the joke gets
Next page