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A B Faniki Sep 2019
Dear black Santa claus I have some wish
It is not as many as the hair on
your head as a matter of fact the wish
is about hair, you see my friend Malik has turn

nineteen last summer and up to now his face
is as smooth as a baby **** without a lick
of hair, Oh! black santa in your next phase
of trip and among your commodity of hair send malik

a beard, so that he won't be in despair
not that that is any business of mine and
please dear black Santa claus don't show this letter
to Saint Nicholas your counterpart with the white beard

I don't want him to accidentally send Malik a white
beard because that will freak him out.
AB Faniki © 9/8/2029 all right reserved  an attemp at humours piece using sonnet form I hope u enjoy it. It was supose to be part of my work banal tells.
A B Faniki Sep 2019
Go into town, call every Tom, Harry, and Nick
tell them to wear green and come out quick
today is saint Patrick's day
no chasing leprechaun today.
Only drowning shamrock in beer like we'e freak
9/7/2019  © A B Faniki all right reserved a linerik for saint oatrick day
Peter Balkus Aug 2019
When they closed down Heaven,
St Peter lost his job,
you would see him in the queue to Job Center,
you would see him drinking alone.

He was angry with the decision:
- They shut Heaven, why they don't shut Hell?!
Maybe they have work for me down there,
maybe I should go and check
.

When he knocked to the Satan's door,
they opened and a man dressed in black
said: My Lord is busy at the moment,
please come back later, or don't come back.


He came back few ours later, knocked again,
and the same strange man opened the gate:
My Lord is still busy, I'm afraid,
can you please come back tomorrow?

-Okay.

So he came back the next day, the door opened
and the same guy appeared before his eyes,
he said: Ah, it's you again, - Well, yes,
you said to come another time.


He said: I want to speak to Satan,
as I'm desperately looking for a job.

He didn't tell him who he was,
but they knew him well in the Kingdom of Gore.

Please, come later - the man said and left,
but St Peter has had enough.
- Oh don't worry you *******,
I'm fed up, I'm not coming back.


When they closed down Heaven,
St Peter lost his job,
you would see him in the queue to Job Center,
you would see him drinking alone.

Peter went off the rails, became an outlaw,
and no one called him Saint anymore,
he hit the bottom, he was a pure evil
killing men for cash and for gold.

And one day he said to himself:
I will try the Hell one more time,
maybe now they will let me in,
when I lost my all inner light.


So he went to meet Holy Satan
one more time and vowed - one last time.
Knocked the door and the same man appeared,
said: Come in, you are welcome now.
Hanna C S Jul 2019
I am not a saint and neither are you.
So what are we to do -
But sit back and
Watch the same suspects;
Sit in self-pity,
Sick to their stomachs;
With own-grown notions;
Of a love so cavity-sweet.
A rotten romance
Written by children -
Drags us all to the dentist.

As it takes centre stage;
We act it out together.
Watch as they gorge themselves
Fat on the falsity;
Stuck in a daze of how they
Ought to be;
Of how they'll never be.

And the hope heals the heat of it.
Softens the sting of it -
Like milk;
But like milk that sits stagnant;
It'll slowly turn sour.
Watch as the older ones choke on it.
Swig back and cough up the chunks in it.
Self-hatred never settled well.

Look,
Look but don't touch.
People like us are too rough;
For the people of painted porcelain.
Fairy-tale spines are feeble;
Paper hearts and scripted stories
Smolder in the heat of us;
Fold with the weight of us.

And I will never understand,
Why delusions rule reality?
Why broken hearts are promised
to teenage dreamers?
Why mad in love is the golden rule?
Surely, insanity only drives you to a hospital?
I can't go back down that road.
I want to be sane in love;
The same in love;
Or not in love.
After all,
What's wrong with a little *** and sanity?

So, We are not saints;
And I don't believe in god.
I don't need your love story.
Baby don't lie to me;
Heaven isn't here for the finding;
**** fake fantasies;
Let's make our own masterpiece;
Just paint my skin with your lips
with my lips on your skin;
before we fall asleep.

I hung your heart
With your coat by the door,
You can have it back;
When you leave in the morning.

-HCS
I am the flower of untouched perceptibility, the unique breed nobody could ever find in any imposing gardens. Do not chase to haunt me and the richness of my petals’ sap if you are not a holy breed of spirit as I might wither and get my seeds of knowledge scratched in your unjust volition. I am the pearl, the mermaid chain of blushing moon tides.
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