The other day, my 25-year-old dunce of a nephew told me, constantly wanting *** was normal for his age. Being in a kindly mood, I neglected to point out that if he got laid, once in a while he might feel differently.
have you ever been stuck in a room with a door? a rock and a hard place they both knock you to the floor you've given up you can't get out can't do your homework or your chores you can't breathe in you can't breathe out you just can't take it anymore --- then you get a feeling you know what's coming next you've gotta move you've gotta step you've gotta stand you've gotta stretch you ***** your knuckles ***** your neck you shoot your shot you try your best you take a pencil to the test you get the A you get the plus you give it more you take no less now here's a lesson for the class so you can pass and come in first and never last you take what's yours you take it fast you hold on tight don't give it back you carry on you don't look back now it's my time I gotta blast
I think that I've addressed that I'm obsessed in forty-three other heartfelt messes. Poetry falling apart at its best is completely normal when I'm loading my cart with formal vests to find confidence in the turmoil. Tinfoil type superstition is envisioned when smoking burnt coil above ripe ****** cakes, that's what it takes when push comes to shove, **** this kush, **** this fake love. Spilling out of every teens pores, killing off through peen spores in teen ******, essence lost from the core with no reward, guessing cost is fourscore then you're out the door. ****, it's a chore living out the lore of a giver and a saint freezing in a river with fresh paint running down the face. River of life and black paint that blinds, giver of strife, it's whack, no matter what the time. Whether you're drunk out of your mind or ******* high, the paint is soon to dry over your eyes and you'll be living blind. Stick your face in the water, it's so ******* simple. Sure, it might be cold on your cracked skin wrinkles. The solution is always right in front of your face. You just got to look for it before it's too late.
I’ve discvoered A strange pastime of mine I like to look for flaws Little things I am ashamed of Then use poetry To slowly unravel them Bit by bit Like the Small intestine We unraveled in our seventh Grade fetal Pig disection Just like that The **** flaws Are unraveled bit by bit Left in all their original Blunt grotesque Glory In my mind To be analyzed And on paper -or a screen I suppose Embeleshed, Into something Beautified and attractive But, Still honest despite Holding back To an extent ... Meanwhile, In my mind The flaws are Picked apart With little probes
Occasionally, A finite solution And method to Get rid of the Flaw Placed on My never ending Bucket list
But, More often than not- ... ERROR NO SOLUTION REQUIRES FURTHER STUDY