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Rhianecdote Apr 2015
And now we're losing interest

Cause we took on things at our own expense

Watch the Dollars burn or go to Bankers

As we all lose our ****** Sense!
yep, I still don't understand why we  compensate incompetent and to be honest ******* wreckless wankers!
Bankers bonuses my ****!
The apathy is strong man
Rj Dec 2014
My head hasn't stopped throbbing
Because of the past hour of crying
You ask a question as if you already believe I am guilty.
I would never take something that doesn't belong to me,  and if I did,  I would ASK FIRST.
I especially do not take poetry.
I don't copy anyone else's work or imagination.
We are all family; each of us have a marvelous ability to delve beneath layers of ourselves by writing each section on paper.
Why would I borrow your layers when I have my own?  
Inspiration is not something a thief can steal
There is the ability to grasp what is around you and feel emotions intensely, or you have a mind that moves with waves of thought and logical calculations.
Borrowing someone's poetry and pretending it is yours reminds me of borrowing jewelry from friends.
You make think it makes you look good,  but trust me,  people can tell that it doesn't belong to you
Someone close to me is accusing me of stealing their poetry from high school.
aviisevil Dec 2014
Tim wasn't the only one infected,
But he was the only one who wasn't turning into a duck.
It had been more than two years of horror,
And almost every part of the world had been struck.

This new disease was carried through the shiny electronic devices,
That had gripped the world in a photogenic way.
Every wall and post reeked of the self centeredness,
And all that led to this last man standing scenario today.

Tim was resisting his fate by throwing away all the devices he could find,
But his hope was slowly degrading, as they were scattered everywhere.
He was experiencing what scientists called as a celebrity syndrome,
The last stage before he would give in, it was almost too hard to bear.

His soul was being crushed within his hundred dollar shirt,
But he was far more inclined to break the mirror in front of his eyes.
The disease was spreading through his arms and hands now,
And in sometime there would be no place left to hide.

Everyone at his school had turned into a duck the other day,
He had seen it from his own eyes, as all his friends got stuck on the web.
Scientists were baffled how it spread impervious of one's religion or faith,
They said the only part recognizable after the infection spreads is the head.

He found his moms name last night too, posted on the wall of lost people.
Tim could only rub his eyes, she was only fifty -five.
He had no clue of what to do, he was already feeling so miserable,
His father had already died, lost sister at twenty-five.

Tim was growing restless by the second, wrestling with his own arms,
But it was too much to handle and finally his hands got free,
He flashed the electronic device at the mirror, it felt warm,
And that's how Tim became the last casualty on earth to catch a selfie.
Notes (optional)
Sarathustra Jun 2014
I, a butterfly.
A lazy one , though.
I, a light.
But not a neon one.
I , an actress.
In my mind only.
I could hear today a waltz as I was waltzing .
One , two , three.
One two , three.
And I, a ballerina.
A laughing one.
A dreamer , an illusionist.
For myself only.
I, a rose
Without petals.
A kisser too,
with painful kisses.
I , not a swan
but the shadow of it.
I , lost.
and found.
Happy, with tears.
but anyway
it all fades...
Stefanie Meade Apr 2014
You followed sweet temptation over the edge
into the dark, warm water.
You tried to climb my body to save yourself.
Even once you had been lifted out,
damp and shaking and frightened
you swooped down
on that bloated, abandoned mass
of oatmeal and raisins
and gulped it down with the frantic abandon
of a dog that has just ****** in the face of death.
My dog once almost killed herself over an oatmeal cookie. True story.
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