i can conjurer up words mix delicate intricacies of verse with poetic license i might defecate upon scripted genius of the past a scourge on the eloquence of perfected prose a pariah with semantics that hang in the air like a frequented noose the rhetoric of this rhetoric both dumbfounds and delights the agenda of the learned; to supress the syntax spat forth the phlegm and catarrh of a gut of derivatives
i could compose a verse for young lovers to cherish if i could only stop the rot; genius nonsense or ignorance i couldn't tell you which
The Wit is nimble, and can skip The longest distances with ease. It flits on an extended trip, One day, and back from overseas. The Wisdom hasn’t cleared the dock, A wide, and long, and sluggish ship, Her cargo a tremendous stock, And filled as if by faucet drip. But such a huge displacement packs, What takes a flimsy, skimming skiff More than a hundred there’s and back’s, A bounty to save Tenerife.
Scenaries I have seen many; But why do you seem like the sunset on a cold lonely beach. Symphonies I have heard many; But why do you sound like A baby's first cry. Perfumes I have smelt many ; But why do you smell like the first rain on a summer day. Sweets I have tasted many; But why do you taste like Cookies that mom makes. Fabrics I have touched many; But why do you feel warm Like the sweaters grandma used to weave.
Have a crush on a guy and wanted to write about him.
Light! Ah, light. At last. The dull grey vanadium Even burns full blast! No need to breathe, Just take the heat And soon you'll never Know defeat! Victory! Victory, at last; A great pile of ashes- That is all that will last. On this meagre battlefield For all that will not yield.
The first time they said I was suicidal It hurt much Felt like a lost kid Thought my last minutes were seconds to go It hurt much Tears couldn't well up Words couldn't form Honestly truth hurts
The first time they said I was suicidal Already saw it coming though The smile hid much than they could see Cried on the silent nights Whispered wishes to my love Held onto the pillar he built
The first time they said I was suicidal Felt like second to me Plus the nights spend pleading for a new world A world with a no-human logo When I held a knife to my dear-chest and thought this is it....
The first time they said I was suicidal Pinned a key on a kids head Wasn't scared of the pain caused, The blood shed reminded of how suicidal I was Second after my own suicide thoughts
The first time they said I was suicidal.... Wasn't that big of word Wasn't that small of expression Took the blame What if I cut my ankle twice just to see red? What if the smile means keep off? What if I was really suicidal?
The first time I was suicidal.... I wasn't suicidal If we could find the 'blame' Only if we could, then anger would it be?