"boggle" poems
*Tears as brittle
As glass cascade lazily down
Her rosy cheeks leaving behind
Indelible outstanding imprints
They reveal a brokenness
A vulnerability that’s so
Sweet and scary almost
In equal measure
Her eyes know not the
Splendor of a radiant sparkle
They downcast and a
Shade darker than normal
Naivety meekness and innocence
Jostle unabated within her eyes bounds
But seldom if never
Do her fears see the light of day
Her eyes speak a dialect
That would mind boggle linguists
Of reasonable repute
And render them obsolete
She undoubtedly a goddess
Of pure emotion and acute sensitivity*
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 6:08 AM UTC
The Summer Alphabet of Woman
Every summer, I learn a new language.
Every winter, it departs for warmer climes,
And its charms and naked arms, its own alphabet,
clean forgot.
Multi-lingual in the summer's peculiar
One language, one aleph bet,
But mega-millions of dialects,
Know them all cold, know them all, hot.
I speak Woman.
Summer is soft, shapely, sweet,
Clean, bare, lush in a sparse way,
And Woman is spoken thusly.
There are no harsh sounds,
Guttural exclamations, nein!
I speak Woman.
There is no ugly in the summer.
Ugly being an ugly word.
It cannot exist in an atmosphere of
Sun, greenery, sand, carefree days, vacations, no school.
There are no ugly women in the summer.
I could take this writ many places,
But if you are sputtering sexist or other labeling words,
Could not give a good god **** because in the summer,
There is no ugly, there is no prejudice.
And I still speak
Woman with an almost perfect fluency,
au naturel.
Gym clothes, short shorts, A-line skirts swishing in the breeze,
High, god, so high the heels, flats clip clopping, flip flopping
all over my heart,
But, it is the bare arms and the hints of summer
Cleavage, the short skirts, body hugging one piece fabrics
stretching from here to down there that does not
Hint,
the shoulder strap of the underthings that asks,
that commands me,
to wonder where it leads too...
Even the light wrap at night mocks me,
Like gift wrapping with a smile demure...a teasing blindfold...
All these say:
Write us poetry in our very own tongue,
Woman.
Will oblige.
I curve with curve of the ***** and
invert with S arc of the waist,
Mystifying, how it is the designed place
For my hands to grasp, and never fails.
The crayola colors of flesh variations,
Boggle the senses... How can tan and pale,
Dark and Light
Have so many
Symphonic variations?
Adagio, slow and leisurely, a pas de deux
For two eyes, then a
Timpani crash and thunder, as
Byron wrote,
"music arose with its voluptuous swell,"
Yes, swell...swell...swell
Enough.
My eloquence, no match for my
Fluency.
Late August, and my vocabulary is already
Diminishing.
I forget how to say in
Woman
*Without you I am nothing,
With you, I am more than everything,*
Tho I can no longer say it,
It is is still true and
Beyond belief.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 12:36 PM UTC
Moonlight peaking through blinds
intermingling with candlefire,
Illuminating a tired artist
creating out of an innate desire.
Cups of coffee, cream & sugar
downed two at a time for stamina
while the typewriter tatters away
fabricating a tapestry of stories
weaved by burgeoning personas.
Who are you?
the stories ask
The coffee? The cream?
The paper? The sugar?
The moon? The light?
The candle? Their user?
Are you the art or the artist?
The heart or its confuser?
All of these questions & more boggle
the artist, who knows not the difference
between imagination & its manifestation,
reality.
Our rational world of thought has given way
to a mystical realm harbored deep within
every subconscious; a subterfuge of
silver threads that discreetly tie us together.
Every night, one after another,
minds across the world become interwoven
into a network of murmured incantations.
Dreams lost in translation like travelers
awaiting trains at different destinations.
Apr 2, 2023
Apr 2, 2023 at 12:56 AM UTC
~
<>
*nearby distant,
the soft thrash of warm waves
lapping interlocking,
happily wet tongue kissing,
sun-oven precision-crisping
the Long Island striped bass
and porgies, at a surreal cooling
77 degrees
Pandora synced to his eyes,
shuffling freely,
by saying
we too see!!
playing for him,
Stairway to Heaven (Led Zeppelin)
poor, poor poet,
strains to brain drain one more time,
conducting an ogling googling word search
for those combinatory storied ones that
sailboat glide
all the while
wildly bursting with Pellegrino effervescence
compromising sounds sights,
to present
properly the balance,
to preserve
properly this moment,
peaceful alive for all times,
as poet has tried,
and failed so many times before...
the caw caw caw of the crow mocks the illiterate human,
for the bird calls it, in single sound perfect and
the human a laughingstock,
for not in his possess,
to capture this perfect moment
of human sabbath.
a Roman Saturn day of rest,
on this day that itself,
is perfection,
perfect for celebrating our common creation,
on a day that our
almost-all-agreed-upon calendar
is marked for us to
forte rest,
from an existence of just laborious
the chubby checkered cheeked squirrels
laughingly pauses,
watching, enjoying a poet's struggle,
mind boggle,
the poet's chubby cheeks
stuffed with discarded words,
all insufficient to capture
the absolution of
absolute beauty
bathing in the noisiest of nature's sounds,
all that contravene the silence of living things,
breathing prayerful thoughts that all
summary end,
with a common gesture of
forefinger upon the lips
a human acknowledgment of
utter obeisance to the forces
calling out by example
listen, see!
silently presenting,
this,
this!!*
a day that demanded perfection
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 5:27 PM UTC
This is such a trivial game,
Kick the sphere again and again,
Grass stains and next day joint pain,
Yellow and Red squares dictate the calmness of play.
CEO wages to do this all day,
Makes the mind boggle how much the first team is paid,
Owned by the men with most expensive pieces of paper,
Football players are modern day gladiators.
Celebrate! The ***** flown through three sticks,
Let’s get rowdy and call the opposing fans ******
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 9:25 AM UTC
Leaving class during an internal lockdown
Shooting elastic bands at the target we mounted on the wall
Shooting elastic bands at our teacher's hat
Hiding from our teacher with the hat
Naming the robot we programed in class: Clive
Bananagrams
Ditching gym class
Talking/lying our way out of trouble a lot lol
Making elaborate plans to do very odd things (and playing pink panther
music as well as mission impossible music when we did it)
Putting mistletoe everywhere in the school at Christmas
Texting quotes of the night
Writing fictional stories and sending them over text to each other in
parts at 2AM
Writing poetry
Learning the Greek Alphabet so we could play Greek Hangman
Creating numerous extremely complicated codes where punctuation,
capitalization, "accidental" smudges near words and how you
pronounce certain words is significant.
Always buying the same drink at Starbucks
Eating a ridiculous amount of free samples at the Fro Yo place
Skipping down the hall happily in our gothic spiked clothing. Just to
confuse people. Watching the looks we got.
Writing limericks in math class
Playing Go Fish with our bus passes and when the teacher came over all he said was: Oh! Who's winning?
Playing full tackle basketball...when we were supposed to be playing badminton
Filling a friend's locker with stuffed animals while they were away and texting them to warn them we put a lion and bear in their locker
Inside jokes: Whiteout, Whip-cream, We-are-the-crazy-people, **** that's a fiiiine shoulder! Pass the coke!
Playing Quarto during Science class
Playing boggle during religion
I miss that grade. I wish things could go back to the way they were, but they really can't ever. I miss being so young and innocen- hahahahaha okay, not innocent but young and crazy. I miss when there were not scars on my arms and my soul.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 1:29 PM UTC
Like a star, you
are completely unstable.
This is certainly true,
it is no fable.
A constant battle, between
your constant auto-criticism,
crushing your self-esteem...
Lashing out with witticism.
And your thoughts coming together
beautiful yet destructive,
yet it's only when it's them you aim to tether
do they tend to get disruptive.
Although I'm under no illusion
and I realise that your beauty can blind,
you create energy like nuclear fusion
and boggle my mind.
Some will be blinded by your brilliance,
others will never fathom your inner struggles.
You will have to find intrinsic stimulants,
and amaze those who watch you juggle
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 2:34 PM UTC
Seems my mouth has created again,
thoughts of passions and crimes of sin.
The very pleasures that play the keys
to all my desires and wish to be's,
have become our own prophecies!
It appears what it is however it is not,
still the ripples of anticipation run hot.
The aura surrounding is milky thick,
yet the arousal source was a mere pick,
purposeful and complex, complete to trick!
I must say that the approach was titillating,
engaging in delusions of our amusements waiting.
Seems the temptation is a mind boggle
the decision and time we continued to toggle.
The dissection to tamper at bits of the soul
and manage the passions, they stay in control.
SDPope
Jan 24, 2010
Jan 24, 2010 at 4:09 PM UTC
Black and White, Coloured
It doesn't seem to matter
Technicolour, Sensoround
Made the audio much fatter
Shaking seats, scented mists
Make most patrons go scatter
To me, it's still a movie show
And entertainment's all that matters
With technological intracies
That boggle one mans mind
there are movies being made today
With images refined
Clarity and texture match
and a green screen there behind
CGI is god today
And so...it was designed
Today, I pushed the envelope
Moving dimensions one more out
I've seen 2D and 3D films
This one made me shout
In the middle of the first scene
It felt so real without a doubt
That I had to take my glasses off
This new dimension....I must tout
Even with my glasses off
It seemed so real to me
I've never seen a film like this
Not even in 3D
A mystical intrusion
And my senses were set free
Then my wife leaned over silent like
And this she said to me....
"Sit still....shut up....it's a play you idiot!"
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 9:02 PM UTC
words.
i just
love
them.
big ones,
little ones.
just love them
they are like
honey on my lips,
poprockz candy to my
brain.
they crackle and fizz:
igniting,
exciting,
vibrating,
reawakening...
synapses too quiescent;
jiggling,
wiggling,
slapping,
trappin,
thoughts....
caught snoozin and napping;
flip flopping
flim flam-ing
photograph
framing...
opinion only halfway dressed;
jitterbuggin,
jiving,
striving
sometimes conniving....
fighting for a voice;
half formed,
brainstormed,
uninformed,
spoken on a baited breathe,
giggle, gaggle,
gobbledegook...
given egress;
hornswoggle,
bing bang boggle,
lolloping through....
galumping,
triumphing,
tree stumping....
both
me
and
yoohoo
too!!!
zip
it,
zinger
coming
on
thru.
my
mind
a
veritable
word
zoo
where i
graze
and nibble
and
nab
a
theasuarus
or
2
.....
words.
i just
love
them.
.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
You haberdashery hauberk harangue of a hornswoggling hiatus . Your arrogantly delusory blasphemous dementia of odiously ominous diabolically grotesque gives me a decadent distraughtness of desultory debauchery and ghastly gnarly abysmal abjections . It causes hysterical deliriums of maniacally macabre . My swashbuckling surreptitious spatiotemporal telemetry tactician is tacitly inured in a phantasmagoria fantastication of fabulist façade fantasias . I could positively kithe a futurity cudgel phantasm and bonkers bluster boggle with your phrenetically frenzied phrenic and forget my phyletic you preterit rendition autonomy equilibrist .
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 9:22 PM UTC
what abounds like love in it's infancy ?
a revival of Spring from an infinite well.
as such; love is the Sun. sundering ordinary doubt
as blind-spots boggle from the lightning fell...
what rainbows do when they shout. and all -
the music
that sustains you, blessed; from a realm
as cloudless as a newborn babe. there are stars.
and all the splendor of an ****** life
thrumming the lost chord, to the last song !
a host of ecstasies, tumbling in a waterfall of loose shackles
and open doors. love then, is the mark of a genius design
embedded in the viscera of Eternity. bristling with Time -
and all the majesty of the Flesh. it barks at the moon
and enthralls the latent flames that lay dormant in your soul.
how the world is new, but not innocent
concerns you not in the least.
and Love is
You.
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 5:16 PM UTC
First posted here on August 22, 2013
~~~~~
Every summer, I relearn a new language.
Every winter, it departs for warmer climes,
And its charms and naked arms,
Its own alphabet,
Clean forgot.
Multi-lingual in the summer's peculiar
One language, one aleph bet,
But mega-millions of dialects,
Know them all cold, know them all, hot.
I speak Woman.
Summer is soft, shapely, sweet,
Clean, bare, lush in a sparse way,
And Woman is spoken thusly.
There are no harsh sounds,
Guttural exclamations, nein!
I speak Woman.
There is no ugly in the summer.
Ugly being an ugly word.
It cannot exist in an atmosphere of
Sun, greenery, sand, carefree days, vacations, no school.
There are no ugly women in the summer.
I could take this writ many places,
But if you are sputtering sexist or other labeling words,
Could not give a good god **** because in the summer,
There is no ugly, there is no prejudice.
And I still speak
Woman with an almost perfect fluency,
au naturel.
Gym clothes, short shorts, A-line skirts swishing in the breeze,
High, god, so high the heels, flats clip clopping, flip flopping
all over my heart,
But, it is the bare arms and the hints of summer
Cleavage, the short skirts, body hugging one piece fabrics
stretching from here to down there that do not
Hint,
The shoulder strap of the underthings that asks,
That commands me:
Wonder where it leads too...
Even the light shoulder wrap
Casual over bare shoulders slung, at night, mocks me,
Like gift wrapping with a smile demure...a teasing blindfold...
All these say:
Write us poetry in our very own tongue,
Woman.
Will oblige.
I curve with curve of the ***** and
invert with S arc of the waist,
Mystifying, how it is the designed place
For my hands to grasp, and never fails.
The crayola colors of flesh variations,
Boggle the senses... How can tan and pale,
Dark and Light
Have so many
Symphonic variations?
Adagio, slow and leisurely, a pas de deux
For two eyes, then a
Timpani crash and thunder,
Just as Byron wrote:
"music arose with its voluptuous swell,"
Yes, swell...swell...voluptuous swell
Enough.
My eloquence, no match for my
Fluency.
Late August, and my vocabulary is already
Diminishing.
I forget how to say in
Woman
Without you I am nothing,
With you, I am more than everything,
Tho I can no longer say it well,
It is is still true and
Beyond belief.
August 2013
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 1:12 PM UTC
When you starting asking why,
Things get a little shaky.
This question will just try,
Boggle your mind that was all ready.
But you keep on doing what you do,
Even though you can't understand.
To your beliefs you'll remain true,
Everyone can always reach for your hand.
This is the kind of love that I have.
A kind that completes everyones halves.
A kind of love that transcends.
A kind of live that you can't comprehend.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 10:33 AM UTC
i'm not your ******* therapist
for every pain
and every itch
for every hurt that you feel
I cannot cure
I cannot heal
the mind can boggle
it does with you
the things you say contradict
the things that you do
a double standard
seems to apply
if you can do that
then, why can't i?
and I do care
what you're going through
but somehow i'm the one to blame
when all the while it's you
overreact, then apologise
imagine dark scenarios through blind eyes
this overwhelming lack of trust
i try my best, do what you must
some days you just cannot see
if i didn't want to be here
then why would i be?
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 6:21 PM UTC
You haberdashery hauberk harangue of a hornswoggling hiatus. Your arrogantly delusory blasphemous dementia of odiously ominous diabolically grotesque gives me a decadent distraughtness of desultory debauchery and ghastly gnarly abysmal abjections . It causes hysterical deliriums of maniacally macabre . My swashbuckling surreptitious spatiotemporal telemetry tactician is tacitly inured in a phantasmagoria fantastication of fabulist façade fantasias . I could positively kithe a futurity cudgel phantasm and bonkers bluster boggle with your phrenetically frenzied phrenic and forget my phyletic you preterit rendition autonomy equilibrist .
Jul 27, 2021
Jul 27, 2021 at 11:06 PM UTC
You taught me something;
Something I could have never learned without you.
You see,
I never really knew why I met you—
Why you met me.
But now I do.
It used to boggle my mind,
Why you came into my life.
It felt like putting puzzle pieces together,
But having to keep starting over.
I never had the chance to say thank you,
For completely destroying me.
Because if you didn't do what you had to do,
I wouldn't be who I should really be.
You gave me knowledge about surviving heartaches.
You taught me to stand alone.
It took me time to feel okay,
But now, through the pain—
I found home.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 2:10 AM UTC
Punctuation.
has no place in a; poem
I. believe"
We should? write
and NOt' worry...
about,where (we put) these trivial markings/
Who) cares about the corrections' when its" really about the words!!!
why. cant. we. make. our. sentences.like.this.short.and.snappy.
or why cant we let them live and grow and take on a life of their own and live and spread and continue for hours and hours and send the world into haywire and chaos erupts everwhere and change topics and confuse people and boggle minds and* make you think-
I}{have a secret? i Would like to ShArE
Nothing matters
~'!()_-}{|":?9[;'.],/...\!!!?!?!?!?!{({})&"'|\)}?/,."}~~~'!
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 9:54 AM UTC
Snapped out this morning from this languorous phase of time,
The grande-sized aftershock of loving too much.
When I cannot seem to make words perfectly rhymed,
My knuckles crackled as reminiscion went back to your touch.
Regret and remorse are on the same page today
As I lament the loss of the would and should be
Dear, would the script at the end be always sorry?
Or I just made cowardice and insecurity a part of me?
I talk bullcrap again and again with no gain.
Using words that makes you boggle in vain again.
I’d make haste and tell you my story
Just listen a while for I wont and I don’t want to tarry.
Well, I met this gal on a drab gloomy room on a tuesday.
I was taken aback for she came in vamoose-like doomsday.
You ever experienced this, when your sight crops to 4 by 3?
Background blurs and she’s completely all you see.
I could’ve went to her straight and say hey lady, I could’ve.
But I was held in my seat for bravery did I not inherit.
Numbers flew by and still I’m far from ready,
That until this day, I still don’t know what to say.
The days I’m with her, I’m only half alive.
Every word I say to her are either true or guarded.
How can I compliment as a friend and appreciate as a lover behind a wall that's 12-inched?
How can I hold her hand as a friend while my insides are turning-twisted?
I’ve wronged her seven shades of Sunday,
And I’ve been pained 32 shades of **** day.
Is the universe unfair to me for being ****** to not love her throughout?
Or not fair to her for this love of mine she has missed out?
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 3:54 AM UTC
There is a forest near Boggle Lakes
go there if your fancy does take
for within the forest I tell you, you're see
the amazing and spellbinding Kitten Tree
The meows are deafening
as you get close
in the fruits of summer
'tis when they spout most
They fall to the forest floor
it's just ******* galore
just purring and scratching
meowing and hatching
So if you have time
just give us a line
tell me what you saw
near Boggle Lakes
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2010 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
Certain moments leave us in the room of curiosity where the existing tends to take snail's pace. The clock abandons its race. It looks as if time took a nap. And in such gravity, our body reacts in the most oblivious of ways. It is almost analogous to a body in space. Involuntary and Indecisive in its movements. While we want to say a million things, our gut takes over by muting us. All the feelings that revolve around a hundred thousand thoughts come out in form of a salt water composition. Metaphorically, our eyes do the talk by reflecting a whole gush of diverse sentiments.
The strangest part enters the scene like a temporary protagonist when there comes a choice between happiness or sadness. If we choose the former, there is no way we can avoid the latter. It takes us a while to process the fact that these two emotions are each other's Ying and Yang. They never come alone.
All this befuddlement lands us into a directionless vehicle.
To satisfy oneself is the greatest accomplishment. In a state like this, we never forgo this belief. Our soul tries to console our mind repeatedly. It tries to salvage us from the impossible questions of our own. Such invisible restrictive force is met with either frustration or fascination. There is no chain that binds us, yet we feel grounded. We feel over-ready to imagine but our minds capture us in the box of boggle. Time has such manipulation on us that we're hypnotised to feel it's power. Not in aspects where it proves its presence but in aspects where it threatens us with its nothingness.
Such junctures of timelessness are highly uncertain in their permanency. They exist and then one moment cease to do so. And when they denounce, we come back to our lives of consciousness and mortality.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC
There’s always a sun bringing light
To places otherwise dark.
Anywhere in the universe
Always a star or two (or more) nearby.
Somewhere there is always life
No matter how transient it may be.
Life that flourishes
In icy wastes, volcanic vents, wide deserts:
Almost anywhere.
For life clings on
With utter determination
To survive.
There’s always grass and trees
Fish and animals
Birds and insects
Of some sort
Wherever life has taken hold.
Never underestimate Mother Nature
Wherever she reigns
Perhaps on planets of every size
Circling around stars
That boggle the mind
Compared to our humble Sol.
Just Rejoice
That We are here right now:
Able to witness and marvel at the wonders
Of a cosmic realm
That we have only just begun
To explore.
Paul Butters
© PB 25\6\2018.
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 5:53 AM UTC
The in between's, middle's,
Nor here nor there’s boggle my
Mind.
Indigo, Mauve, Maroon are just
Blue, Purple and Red in my
Eyes.
Why anyone would ever want
To complicate such easy ways is beyond
Me.
Maybe’s, undecided’s.
Why not just yes’ and no’s?
Big city, small town.
Why suburbs?
Black and white.
No grey's.
That’s how I wish you would
See.
But you are you and I am me.
And maybe there’s just too much
In between,
For us
to Be.
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 5:16 PM UTC
I'm not very good at this
Explaining myself and what I do
Deciphering my emotions
Deciding what is wrong and what is true.
So let's start with the no
And later with the yes
One means "Absolutely!"
And the other a "I guess"
It's a bit confusing
But I know you'll understand
If maybe I write it down
To lend you a helping hand.
When I say maybe
I really don't have a clue
Of what or how I feel
And what we should do.
So back to yes it's simple
When it doesn't mean yes
It's probably a "No"
Or a "Not quite yet."
When you cross all the I's
And dot the T's
Everything is spelled correct
And really easy to read.
But if you don't speak my language
Because I'm afraid you aren't me
And you definitely aren't a girl
I'm sorry, but that's how it has to be.
And when I'm mad I'm not really mad
Or I'm very ****** off
Though I probably won't tell you
But clear my throat and cough.
Because when I'm nervous I fidget
And it's obvious to most
That I'm afraid to give a straight answer
For what I fear might come too close.
I don't like getting yelled at
In fact it's usually the response
That I get when I speak openly
And tell of all my wants.
But I have to learn
That you can't always be afraid
It's only more problematic
And expands the mess I made.
So I should just speak my mind
I will try, when I can
And tell you a direct answer
So that you understand.
Because I probably just boggle you
Twist you up and confuse you
Turn you upside down
Even though I don't mean to.
So sometimes yes means no
And other times no means yes
And when I say maybe
That's usually a I guess.
So that is half of the time
But even that's not completely true
I guess I could try a little harder
And break it down for you.
So yes is sometimes maybe
And no is always no
But maybe is absolutely
And I guess, is what you should watch out for.
Because when I say I guess
I really mean no, never
Unless I'm smiling
Then we can do it together.
I'm having a hard time explaining
I'm sure you can see
Maybe there's no use in trying
In figuring out me.
But I give you lots of credit
And lots of kisses too
Cause you've got it down pretty good
Probably better than I do.
So I'll stop trying to explain myself
It seems to be a waste of time
I'm only making it more confusing
By writing this rhyme.
Feb 10, 2011
Feb 10, 2011 at 8:46 AM UTC
I don’t know where to start, we need time apart
don’t say we’re so much alike, we clash
I’m nothing like you
Despite what you think, lying isn’t part of my lifestyle
You’ve created this “life” that you’ve build on lies
this style you’ve formed on others opinions, wants, needs
What happened to you?
I could say when I was younger I looked up to you
wanted to be the mirror image right down to the straight across bangs
that was 6th grade.
Now it seems like you’re looking down on me, a piece of **** on the shoe
just a teenager is what you’ve labeled me
one year, and 4 months I’ll be 18
is that when I’ll finally be a someone to you, not only someone
but you’re god **** daughter.
Yes, I’m young but whats ****** up is
I’m convincing you to stop using the internet to meet men
Rinsing your hair of bleach, spending a fortune of on skin care
Who are you?
This is where I begin to preach, theres a breach in the system
wires crossed, burnt, n’ broken
thus causing an outtage of ******* patience I have for you.
Most the decisions you make, boggle my mind
you always choose the path less traveled by,
voyaging through potholes and quicksand
you’re stinking, stuck
things won’t change, its to late
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 2:53 PM UTC