Of shadows refrained, and hypocrisy big brained; labels the crops, f'r these art c'rpses. promises in caskets, f'r these art showpieces. oh palmy, thy palmy strengtheneth thy soil f'r t is in vengeance
too much of Shakespearean sonnets influences a lot
Ideas swirl in my mind Forming windstorms That pick up scattered thoughts and words and grow into tornadoes that whirl across my mind.
They distract from life From what's real and what matters.
But when I sit down to write They all flee in terror And my pen hovers above the page filled only with scribbled out phrases and my own insecurities.
I always have these stories and ideas in my mind, but when I go to write them down, the words to do so evade me and it comes out as sloppy, half-formed, and not anywhere near as good as they were in my head.
Firs hang their boughs in silence as in pale Excuse it looks like some big snowman thence Erm, toppled by whom, eh? lies headless hence Upon the "island's" rim cuz oh, t'avail Last weekend some tried to move snow sans bail, As la, his forklift needed to fr'intents Be wrestled from captiv'ty, as for sense The icy pile swore it would NOT move, hale. Now as a fragile touch of pink'd bestir Itself to trick out blank racks 'cross the view, Likeas a chalkboard blushing faintly fer Effect, what drives me to complain? Naught woo. Nor have I watched aught movies. What, as twere, Culls this dull sense that nary joys now cue?
You're allowed to take out the trash, but I want to keep this particular garbage, hahaha.