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anonturtles Jun 2019
Most everything we did, we did too many times to count.
The kisses hello and kisses goodnight,
all-consuming hugs and kicks under the table.
The side glances you'd give me,
with that half smile
in response to a joke that was not good
and was probably mine.

I told you I loved you too many times to count.
All the nights out and all the nights in
under covers with a movie we would give up on
because I was asleep in your arms,
on your shoulder,
too many times to count.

You pressed your nose against mine too many times to count
so close that I'd look with only one eye at a time
and try to memorize your face
smiling in response to that very special smile you saved
for only when we were nose to nose
then wait not so patiently for you to kiss me.

I wish I had a tally
of all these nice things and nice words
to wrap up into nice memories
I could keep and count for years to come.
But I regret much more not counting the other things
of the not so nice nature
important things
that needed to be counted
and were not.

Like all those times you made me cry
for equally uncountable reasons,
reasons I can't remember clearly
but at the time sent a chill through my heart
ran through my nerves
got caught in a cold breath
so that I felt the absence of your love
the emptiness of where you told me it was.
I felt that hole too many times to count.

You left me for more interesting things too many times to count
so that I felt so alone
even though I was with you
disappointed that you had disappointed once again.
You, being you,
and me, being me,
being not each other and not close either
then crying again
realizing we would never be.

We went to bed angry too many times to count
and woke up forgetful every time after
because our problems could not be fixed
and we knew it would do us no good to look at them.

I thought about breaking up too many times to count
and clearly you did too,
because I can count the number of times we did, once.
Still, you broke my heart too many times to count
before, during, after our relationship,
picking up the pieces, the uncountable number of pieces,
and piecing myself back together
on just another occasion I would not bother counting.

I loved you in spite of everything too many times to count
Let my heart burn with quiet hope
hoping everything would be okay
even though it was never okay
and my heart was already cooked black
yet still, I could probably start counting now.

If only I had counted
then I would know how much I don't need you
then I would have some grand sum as proof
then I wouldn't have to count now

count the tears I still cry
count the nights I can't sleep
count the drinks I don't count to drink more

My heart falls silent after a fit of anguish and pain and desperation
watching the gears in my brain snap with the
incompatibility of reality and my now silent heart
Fallen flat. too tired to get back up
Marty S Dalton May 2013
Take a deep breath inventory
Of yourself
Do not count your hands or feet
Not your wandering legs or
Wavering arms
Do not take inventory of your clothes
Not of your favorite shoes or
Your special hat—not even your
Coat that you save for those cold,
Cold nights
Ignore your car—payments or paid off
Your home—apartment, trailer, mansion
Your work uniform—whatever that may be

Make emergency stops only
You are still several miles from
The intersection of contentment and identity
And you have not been there
In far too long
Do not take inventory of how you look
In a summer dress or a tuxedo and bowtie
Don’t count your history with
Drugs and alcohol
Don’t count your computer, your television
Or that collection of movies
Or albums
Or books that you’ve been working on
Don’t take account of your ability to curl
Dead weight
It’s just curling dead weight
Don’t count the number of visible abs
You have
Or your BMI

You are so much more than a body
You are so much more than possessions
Your body and belongings have not
Done you well to feel like you belong

Instead take inventory of your joy
You have some joy don’t you?

Count your friends
Count your love letters
Count the moments when it rains
And you have an umbrella
Count the last time you had strawberries
Count the start of every kiss
Count the paid off credit cards
Actually, count those twice
Because freedom counts for twice as much
Account for all of your freedoms
Take inventory of playing catch with your dad
Your last home-cooked meal
Account for the last time you rode a bike
When you didn’t think about exercise, you just felt the wind
Count the times you wrapped birthday presents
Count the smell of the last bouquet of flowers you were given
Count the last time you went to the zoo
And you swore, nobody ever fell in love with the
Animals quite like you did
Cause you have an eye for beauty
And you’re seeing it everywhere
Take a deep breath inventory of the beauty you have seen

And when you can’t seem to find anything that matters
To take inventory of
Count those dark moments where you still
Have the hope to rack your brain
To try to find a memory where you had joy
If you still have hope to try to find it
That is joyful
All on its own
Because I know they can be hard to find sometimes
Those things worth taking inventory of
But I have found the greatest of these things is love
Not the way I love Pulp Fiction and Casablanca
But the way I love my wife
And my father and my mother
And a good rescue
Cause that is what I’ve had—a good rescue
And life is sweet like honey
Not because it’s easy
And certainly not because I feel good all the time
But because I have found joy in a rescued life that I can hope in
When I take a deep breath inventory
I have to realize all I have is love
The rest will go away someday
But not my hope and joy and love
Lavina Akari Apr 2014
count cuts
  count pills
   count tears
      count blades
        count frowns
         count calories
            count memories
               count blood drops

          count your blessings
         count memories        
        count recovery
       count smiles
      count meals
     count days
    count yes'
   count us
Jessie Schwartz Feb 2018
The Count…by Jessie 1/06

Count the ones that said they cared
Count the times they lied
Count upon, you can not count
This truth you cannot hide
Count how many times they left
Divide it by returns
Ad it to the times it took, just for you to learn
Count up all the good days,
You had within the year
Subtract it from the bad days
A negative appears
Count up all the sorrys,
Each one has had to say
The meaningful a fraction;
Little price to pay
Count the quantum leaps you took,
With your heart in hand
Count the times right after,
Empty where you stand
Count the times you lay your head,
On the pillow just to dream
Count the times you’ve woken up,
Hearing yourself scream
Now stop and sharpen up the lead
One more problem to be solved
At what point do you stop the count
And let yourself resolve?
Sparrow Feb 2013
I can count on my left hand
how many boys have had a taste of my lips
I can count on them like I can my pinky in a bar fight
Clipped nails like flightless birds
Nothing to scratch my initials into their flesh
Because most nights
I didn’t belong there

I can count on my right hand
The number of boys that I’ve slept with
Some naked and others fully clothed with the lights on
I used to be afraid of the dark
Until I had too many secrets to hide in the shadows
Sometimes I’d beg them not to look at me
Because my scars were always illuminating stories
I didn’t want to tell
Sometimes I’d beg them to leave me
Because my stories were too long
To begin to tell
I didn’t want to be there
At all

I can count with my eyes closed
The number of times I’ve cried in front of someone
Because of a boy
My eyes have to be closed
Or I won’t let myself remember it
Sometimes I don’t
And I tell myself I have never cried
For such a silly reason
As a boy

I can count on my hips
The number of times I’ve felt like nothing
While lying in a place I didn’t want to be
And counting the sounds a darkened room
Until the sun washed my eyes open
And told me it was better to forget
So I forgot
But every time I lie awake
I remember you like taste of your palm
Against my mouth
And I really
don’t want to

I can count the seconds
Before I fall asleep
Strategically within the first few thousands
So as not to keep listening to the sounds my room makes
Incase our windows creak at the same time of night
I might burst out of the blankets
And run until the sidewalk catches up to me
Or I might lie there
And pretend not to hear it

I can count with my heartbeats
The number of times
I pretended not to hear myself

I can count on my eyelashes
The seconds I spent with my eyes closed

I can count on my body
The number of panic attacks I’ve had

I can count on
To never speak to you again

It was the beginning of the summer
And life was darker than the underside of frightened eyelids
I told you I needed someone to depend on
You told me to count on you

and I’m sorry that I ever did.
Emma Annalise Feb 2016
I count the pills, count them twice
Count them as if they were dice
Count my babies, count their eyes
Count them while my brain spits lies
Count them while the rain pounds hard
Count them ‘til my hands are tired
Count them count them day and night
Count them count them out of fright
Count them count them ‘til I know
‘Til I know it’s time to go
Path Humble Aug 2018
the count starts now (tired of tired)

I read your outcry at 3:00am
posted on Facebook

you are
tired of tired
sick of sick
the only question, will it ever end...

rise this day,  start another way...

count your blessing
count against all odds
for there are more than merely one

use both hands
both hands chested to feel the heart thrusting,
for living is a wondrous blessing unique
an unbelievable to believe than so many beats,
born and borne,
by you, a strength unequaled,
you a richness possessed

count that one first.
count my hands holding your shoulders.
count that as two, one for me, one for you.

more? more.  

mirror.  find the tiny light in each eye against a yellow backdrop.

add two more. for they are a sparking confidence of confirming.

you felt the heart thrumming
go back, feel the breathing warmth breaching forth.
add another. for now known you can never ever be cold.

wash the face, wash away the caution that sleep leaves,
the coverlet of fear that fears you not to dare,
amazing that tap water plain is sacred when it
miracle breaks you out and anoints thy forehead with pure oil like the kings of yore, be a kingly human being.

go out. do not return
until one act of kind is performed and
count that as a thousand blessed, a sum recurring recounted

walk humble and the path will always appear.
walk contented for you can be both king and servant,
there is no difference - you must be both to be the other

and if you still cannot raise the head,
call me.
that would be a blessing for me
and I will hear your blessings sounds mine merge,
dear friend and no more stranger,
that is the simplest definition of our learning to count to
4:00am I read your cry on facebook ph pathhumble
Et cetera Feb 2016
When you came into my life
I stopped counting words
fears and doubts
I still have them, but then
I also have you.

Counting is a strange thing
I can count my books
(I have a lot of them)
I can count your poems
(You have a lot of them)
I can count the years we've lived
(May we live more, together)
I can count my qualities
And I can count my scars
I can count the events which changed me
I might even be able to count yours
I can even count the stars
If I set my mind to it
It seems more possible
Than counting the goodness
Which you have in you

I cannot count the smiles you've given me
(They are more than the stars)
I cannot count the advice you've given me
(I hold it close to heart)
I cannot count the love you have for me
(It makes me laugh and cry when I try)
I cannot count the time I want to spend with you
(The conventions of hours won't accept it)
I cannot count your person
(You hold too much inside you)
Your depth and your beauty
(And everything that doesn't have a name)

So since I fell in love with you, Hamid
I've discovered that I don't try counting
Numbers lost their meaning
And I've never been good at math anyway.
Dom McDo Nov 2019
Don’t count me out
I feed on that doubt
Don’t count me out
You haven’t seen that bout
Don’t count me out
You haven’t seen my new move
Don’t count me out
Let me show what I can do
Don’t count me out
No I’m not through
Let me show you what I’ve been through
All I can do
You can’t count me out
I’m more than you know
Sure it took a while for things to take off but now we’re soaring
I wouldn’t count you out
No matter what I found out
**** the rumors and the doubt
One through a hundred
I’m betting it all on you
The one and only
Don’t count me out
I might have to move different
For us to reach something different
Don’t count me out
Don’t act indifferent
Fact is things are different
We may be down but not out
You can’t count us out
Beaten and broken
With allot of unspoken words
Thinking about it’s got me choked up
Life seems so broken up
We’ve still got fight so don’t count us out
No matter how big or small
We can surpass it all
So Don’t count me out
I feed on that doubt
Setting the stage as I ascend
Climbing to new plateaus
Everything set against me
Can’t stress the history
Success gained under mystery
It takes both hands to count the number of times I’ve been ***** but doesn’t count because I didn’t say ‘no.’
Both hands to recall the men who I felt obligated to sleep with because I had turned them on it’d be ‘mean’ to leave them that way.
On both hands, I can remember the number of times the smell of alcohol on his breath made me want to ***** as he kissed my neck before thinking that I wanted it.
Both hands to count the number of times I wasn’t strong enough to push him off of me before he pushed inside of me.
Both hands to count the number of times he told me to ‘calm down, it was alright.’
I used both hands too many times to run my nails down his back, making him think I was enjoying myself; hoping to end it end sooner.
On both hands, I can count the number of ******* I faked on a different man’s mattress in a different position than the man before.
On both hands, I can count the number of times I said I liked it from behind the most so I wouldn’t have to see his face.
On both hands, I can count the number of men I thought might sleep with me and actually like me instead of using me as just another way to get laid.
Both hands I can count the number of times he finished and I got dressed in the dark so that I could leave and never hear from him again.
On both hands, I can count the number of times I’ve cried myself to sleep, feeling ashamed of the number of men I’d wished I’d said ‘no’ to.
Both hands I can count the number of nights I’ve stayed up only to cut another slash through my wrist and let his memory seep through the wound.  
On both hands, I count the number of times I didn’t want to have ***, but felt guilty and pressured into doing what he wanted.
Both hands I can count the number of times I’ve been *****, but didn’t say no, didn’t struggle, only cried in silence after it was over.
jeffrey conyers Apr 2013
Count your blessing.
Count your blessing.
These two things should be enough.
Yes, to count your blessing.

Count your blessing.
Friends, if true.
Count your blessing.
These two have more worthiness than you could imagine.
So, count your blessing.

Angels, comes in many disguises than we realize.
Blessings, comes in many ways.
Then those that could cross our minds.

Material wealth might means importance to some.
But sincereship means, a little more.
So, count your blessing.

God sent them.
All we must do is be willing to accept them.
And count our blessings.
Ashly Kocher Sep 2018
Count on me
When you need a friend
Count on me
Just take my hand
Count on me
I’ll lead the way
Count on me
Come with me, this way
Count on me
To be a listening ear
Count on me
Never to judge
Count on me
Always to be there
Count on me
Count your blessing with me
Always you can....
             COUNT ON ME
Iraira Cedillo Mar 2014
If you ever find yourself stuck in the middle of the sea
I'll sail the world to find you
If you ever find yourself lost in the dark and you can't see
I'll be the light to guide you
Find out what we're made of
When we are called to help out friends in need
You can count on me like one, two, three
I'll be there
And I know when I need it
I can count on you like four, three, two
You'll be there
Cause that's what friends are supposed to do
Oh yeah
Ooohhhh Ooohhhh
Ooh yeah yeah
If you're tossin' and you're turnin' and you just can't fall asleep
I'll sing a song beside you
And if you ever forget how much you really mean to me
Everyday I will remind you
Find out what we're made of
When we are called to help our friends in need
You can count on me like one, two, three
I'll be there
And I know when I need it
I can count on you like four, three, two
You'll be there
Cause that's what friends are supposed to do
Oh yeah
Ooohhhh Ooohhhh
Ooh yeah yeah
You'll always have my shoulder when you cry
I'll never let go, never say goodbye
You know you can count on me like one, two, three
I'll be there
And I know when I need it
I can count on you like four, three, two
And you'll be there
Cause that's what friends are supposed to do
Oh yeah
Ooohhhh Ooohhhh
You can count on me cause I can count on you (:
To jessenia
Masha Yurkevich Nov 2019

we count.

We count likes,
we count follows.

We count steps,
we count calories.

We count minutes,
we count hours.

We count weight,
we count days.

But we don't count what really counts...

the time we spend together.

pluie d'été Apr 2014
i have lost count
of how often i told you
that i loved you
i have lost count
of how many times
you told me you wanted me

i have lost count
of how often
you came
i have lost count
of how many times you left

i have lost count
of how often i held your hands
and kissed the inside of your wrists
i have lost count
of how many times you held me
and how many stars
you counted in my eyes

i have lost count
of how often i cried for you
i have lost count
of how many times
i fell for you

i have lost count
of how many months
you have been gone for
thirty-nine or forty
my mind won't go back
and count that far

my pen
scratches the paper
dancing to the wind
if anything
but you being gone
really matters
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
The way you count things
just with your fingers, or one time counted
the freckles on my face, final count fifty-seven,
or the way tonight we count stars in your garden
except there are not that many to count
and we’ll soon count sheep in our heads instead
but you are counting from one to whatever
a list of things you count as my best qualities
and I join in and count down
what I love about you, countless memories
we store together and count as treasures,
but to count them all would take so many hours
I’d be out for the count, sleeping by these flowers.
Written: November 2015.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time - a sonnenizio (devised by poet Kim Addonizio) - taking the first line from a sonnet (in my case, Sonnet 43 by Elizabeth Barrett Browning), using a word from that line in each following line (with occasional slight alterations), and finishing with a rhyming couplet. I do not consider this piece very strong at all, so I may try to do another one in the future. All comments welcome. A link to my Facebook writing page is available on my HP home page.
NOTE: Many of my older pieces will be removed from HP at some point in the near future.
Can you count your blessings instead of your crosses.
Can you count your gains instead of losses.

Can you count your joys instead of your woes;
Can you count your friends instead of your foes.

Can you count your smile instead of your tears.
Can you count your courage instead of your tears.

Can you count your full years instead of your lean;
Can you count your kind deeds instead of your mean.

Can you count your health instead of your wealth;
Love your neighbor as much as yourself.
Count your age by friends not by years,

Count me together with them.

Count your happy memories  and leave behind the sad,

Count together those who loathe you but their hate results into goodness.

Count those who pretty calm you down when mad.

Count them that thinks you are mad at them but you're actually not.

Now count and know you not just your age but more.

Count families;

Friends all are part of your age.

Wishing you the best life can offer...
       Inspiredpoet ✍️
Adeyi gracious mayomikun.
To every being born to this earth; ohh the miracles
a gale Aug 2014
Close your eyes
Cross your fingers
Count to ten
that's how I've always been
hoping everytime I open my eyes
somehow 'll get what I want
If I don't
maybe it's just not meant to be
But as I sat here
the moon as my company
the space beside me
emptier than it used to be
eyes closed
fingers crossed
as I count to ten
hoping you're finding
your way back to me
but as I reach to ten
opening my eyes
uncrossing my fingers
I guess the tears
could speak for itself
Maybe it's not meant to be...
But it has to be
Close your eyes
Cross your fingers
Count to ten
as the tears
won't cease to stop
If it's not meant to be
then I'll find a way
Close your eyes
Cross your fingers
Count to ten
If I leave now
you might come back
to an empty space
If I leave now
I might not see you
back here with me
"Close, Cross, Count"
I whisper to myself
I don't know
how many tens I've counted
Close, Cross, Count
Maybe it's not meant to be
maybe you're not coming back
maybe your absence
is permanent...
Close, Cross, Count
I know I should stop
this foolish wishing
But as I stood up
begging myself not to cry
all I could do
is Close my eyes
Cross my fingers
and start Counting
the days
or months
or years
or decades
until your back

*a. gale
A Jan 2019

Count the seconds you hold your breath when her name is mentioned

Count the seconds between i love you and i want to leave

Count the seconds from when the tub filled up to when your brain began to go fuzzy

Count the seconds until you forget what number even comes after one

Count the seconds until they shift into hours or days or years of wasted time

Count the seconds until  you run out of time left to count


Because it's the only thing you have left anymore
I lost count of the sheep while waiting for sleepiness to take over.
I lost count of the seconds that tick by while waiting for your plane to take you home to me.
I lost count of my footprints on the sand while waiting for you to come follow me.
I lost count of the dandelion seeds i blew away to the fields while waiting for the wind to whisper to me those words from you,"i miss you."

I lost count of the days.
I lost count of the nights.
I lost count of the stars and stop wishing upon the moon.
I lost my sense of numbers.

Why did i still not lose my feelings for you?

Cause baby, the truth is...
I'm still hoping; not minding how long i will be waiting; that some day, you'll hold my hand and say those three words-i love you-to me.
I lost in writing while thinking of you and of how can i rid of the feelings i have for you. It's too painful that i don't know what to do anymore.
If one day you'll read this, you know what to do, because i will still be waiting for you.
-for the man called J
Maria Imran Sep 2016
count the ways you are sad on your finger tips
if you stop at ten and need more, close your hand in a fist and count on your knuckles
later you can count on your toes and maybe, one by one, on every other part too
count on your scars, why don't you try that?
count on your purple bruises
count on your two eye bags, swollen lip; count on your sometimes-throbbing-sometimes-weakening heart
then cry on your tears

I am sure they would do.
ciara Sep 2018
and i just casually count the minutes
from when we last spoke and i
and the number gets bigger,

im too scared to answer
if i answer
i have to lie about how i don't love you
so i
count my life away.
the minutes stays at
and i give in.
Dorothy Quinn Jul 2013
You learned to count when
you were just two years young,
Wrong, you have to learn to count again
when you turn your heart into a kite,
and let it fly until it rests in someone’s
unworthy hands who will steer
your kite back to you,
all battered and broken,
when they’re done.

You have not learned to count yet,
it’s okay.
You have not learned to count
until you forgive him,
and kiss boys who you won’t marry,
and stop forgetting to kiss your father goodnight,
because you were too caught up in wishing
he was kissing you goodnight instead.
Count your steps and realize
you can fall in love again, but
don’t stop there -
you think you’ve learned
but you haven’t learned
to count
until you see his hands
on another girl’s hips
and his face on her lips,
until your stomach threatens to push itself
right out of your very own mouth,
and everything you’ve learned to count -
one, two, three,
comes rushing out before you can stop it.

Again, again, again,
you have to teach yourself to count,
to love, to forgive, to move on,
to understand that you will never again
love someone who will make you learn
how to count
all over again.
SøułSurvivør Jul 2016
When you have nowhere to go
Trials are fast, blessings slow
And the toilet overflows

Count it ALL JOY!

When winter Paints the Roses blue
When your boyfriend finds someone new
And all your friends turn on you

Count it ALL JOY!

When you are truly at a loss
Not even one coin to toss
Had a fight with your new boss!

Count it ALL JOY!

Maybe you don't have a job
You're on the street you just been robbed
People actin' like they're snobs
You cry for help, their heads just bob
You really have the trials of Job

Count it ALL JOY!

Maybe you're sick, and filled with pain
And you're sitting in the rain
Your energy is on the wane
The fiddle plays a sad refrain

Count it ALL JOY!

When you feel you're near the end
And you're going 'round the bend
Cannot find a single friend...


(C) 7/21/2016
James 1:2-8

... for the joy of the Lord is your strength.
Nehemiah 8-10

Can't sleep due to physical pain.

R A Sanders Nov 2011
I hear the clock tick on,
I count every second on my fingers,
I toss and turn in my grandmother's bed;

I hear Godfather on the TV,
I count the minutes till the noise stops,
I toss my hair back and turn back to the wall;

I hear the window break,
I count the men that are trying to break in,
I toss back the covers and turn to the closet;

I hear the gun shot fire,
I count the men that fall to the floor,
I toss the gun aside, and turn on the light;

I hear the sirens,
I count the puddles of blood,
I toss back the covers, and crawl into bed.
Jordan Gee Aug 2020
Looking down from over their bodies - I count them.
My split mind at once rejoices in and recoils from that counting.
Peering back over my shoulder I make
dark associations.
It’s as if I was afraid of becoming lost
the way the bodies made a trail like bread crumbs,
leading back from the places I had been.
I walk with the Holy Light.
I walk with my dark companion.
I walk between the spines of the body shrikes.
They harvest all my crumbs and remind me I am lost.
They hook the bodies high from spikes
so I look up to make the body count.
I can see the Holy Script
but I can’t seem to find the way.
Red and gold beacons in the dream,
flickering off and on like syncopated declarations
as if saying:
Here I am
Here I am
Here I am.
All elbows and knees I slip between the webs of the
orb weavers and the cactus spines of the butcher birds
while they count the bodies for me:
Here they are
Here they are
Here they are.
Hang-dog and hard of breathing  I have my medicine.
I’m hanging from the sleeping cliffs over
hell’s half acre and the high deserts.
I remember my brother flying me to California on a great olive branch.
He fed me sushi and smiled while he watched by brain heal.
But I was coming for the bodies.
My count was smaller then, but it was high enough for him
and his hands were the keepers of the flame.
The fire there was exiled and quietly he laid it by.
My brother spread out over the carpet of time like
the faithful departed with the weavers and the shrikes and
mounted bodies in the sky.
A child appears before me on the walk - eyes like a baby deer.
His mother is two blocks behind, so he asks three questions while he waits:
Why are you smoking?
Where are your hands?
Is it getting dark soon?
He leaves me to wonder where my hands are and where the dark is,
the Holy Sage smoking at my side.
Like some dark sabbath.
Like some reading of the will.
Like some dark and holy delta sleep in a crib of red clay.
I have a feeling I have been gone a very long time and I
want to be home now,
but there is buzzing and chirping and a red light and
Saul of Tarsus holds a great tome before me and with my hands
I hide my eyes.
I am the dreaming of the world of dreams.
Therein the Holy Light rages like the flare of 1000 suns
while my eyes are shuttered tight
like old memories all gone beyond the sorrow.
The old oath keepers are all plates and screws.
The golden woven orbs and cactus spines are all empty on
the altar like a decommissioned slaughterhouse.
So I go and make a body count.
Shrikes (/ʃraɪk/) are carnivorous passerine birds of the family Laniidae. The family is composed of 33 species in four genera. The family name, and that of the largest genus, Lanius, is derived from the Latin word for "butcher", and some shrikes are also known as butcherbirds because of their feeding habits.
kirk Oct 2018
To impregnate a women, you have to feel the horn
Being soft is not much good, or if your ***** is worn
Many men they want a ****, but don't want babies born
It's best to avoid men like Boyd, because he's low on corn

If you have unprotected ***, and your cocktails on the prawn
Then pregnancy is immanent, unless a line is drawn
Wearing a sheaf is sensible, that's if it isn't torn
Make sure your rubbers in one piece, or watch some ******* ****

****** stimulation can be achieved, when there is a certain need
You soon had some excuses, when your rubber tore at speed
There's no need to lie, because it's just for your own greed
Suddenly your low on ***** after you had your ****** feed

You didn't mind your pleasure, when you layed and did the deed
Some consequences matter, when you know where things may lead
No mention of low ***** counts, you came and spread your seed
Pregnancies have happened, because low ***** counts can still breed

Hay now Boyd I wonder how, your ***** count is so low ?
It seems to me your capable, but you don't want to know
If you can break a ******, then it just goes to show
The only thing you can count, is a free cash money flow

Counting *****'s not easy, was it sitting in a row
Low ***** count is an excuse, for just another ***
Responsibility is not your thing, you want to ***** and go
You don't care you've had your ***, instead of going slow

Avoid Boyd because I think, his low count is a lie
It can get through rubber sheafs, and it doesn't even try
Destroying morning after pills, it looks like his counts sky high
His Low count cant be so low, to kiss pregnancy goodbye

He's implied the kids not his, its enough to make you cry
It didn't bother him before, when he layed in the pie
Now that pregnancies occurred, he's now done up his fly
Suddenly his ***** is low, and that's the reason why

Isn't Boyd just a boy, but with an added D
The laziness of proper names, at least to a degree
What's his parent's thinking of, are they completely of their tree
What's wrong with naming a boy, ben or pete or lee

Is it a bit like catchphrase, where you say what you see
Was there born a baby boy, holding brook bond tea
I don't think Boyd is a real name, but you may disagree
A better name I could supply, and I wouldn't charge a fee

Poor old Boyd his ***** is low, they must be quite annoyed
Their waiting for orders to go, but now there unemployed
Most of them are killed off, and the rest just get destroyed
Not one of those *****'s hanging high, unlike Harold Lloyd

He's claiming that his count is low, he must be paranoid
******* that rips rubber, that's some ***** you should avoid
Combating morning after pills, once his ***** has been deployed
If you value your own dignity, for **** sake avoid Boyd
At morn the Count of Greiers before his castle stands;
He sees afar the glory that lights the mountain lands;
The horned crags are shining, and in the shade between
A pleasant Alpine valley lies beautifully green.

"Oh, greenest of the valleys, how shall I come to thee!
Thy herdsmen and thy maidens, how happy must they be!
I have gazed upon thee coldly, all lovely as thou art,
But the wish to walk thy pastures now stirs my inmost heart."

He hears a sound of timbrels, and suddenly appear
A troop of ruddy damsels and herdsmen drawing near;
They reach the castle greensward, and gayly dance across;
The white sleeves flit and glimmer, the wreaths and ribands toss.

The youngest of the maidens, slim as a spray of spring,
She takes the young count's fingers, and draws him to the ring,
They fling upon his forehead a crown of mountain flowers,
"And **, young Count of Greiers! this morning thou art ours!"

Then hand in hand departing, with dance and roundelay,
Through hamlet after hamlet, they lead the Count away.
They dance through wood and meadow, they dance across the linn,
Till the mighty Alpine summits have shut the music in.

The second morn is risen, and now the third is come;
Where stays the Count of Greiers? has he forgot his home?
Again the evening closes, in thick and sultry air;
There's thunder on the mountains, the storm is gathering there.

The cloud has shed its waters, the brook comes swollen down;
You see it by the lightning--a river wide and brown.
Around a struggling swimmer the eddies dash and roar,
Till, seizing on a willow, he leaps upon the shore.

"Here am I cast by tempests far from your mountain dell.
Amid our evening dances the bursting deluge fell.
Ye all, in cots and caverns, have 'scaped the water-spout,
While me alone the tempest o'erwhelmed and hurried out.

"Farewell, with thy glad dwellers, green vale among the rocks!
Farewell the swift sweet moments, in which I watched thy flocks!
Why rocked they not my cradle in that delicious spot,
That garden of the happy, where Heaven endures me not?

"Rose of the Alpine valley! I feel, in every vein,
Thy soft touch on my fingers; oh, press them not again!
Bewitch me not, ye garlands, to tread that upward track,
And thou, my cheerless mansion, receive thy master back."
XinsanityX Aug 2013
I want to be your abacus baby,Oh you can count on me.
I wont say that i love you, or i heart you, I less than 3 you.
Your molecules must be moving fast,girl. Cause your really hot.
Are you igneous sedimentary or metamorphic? All i know is baby you rock.
And if god existed I'd thank him for you, but I'm rational and read a lot of Sam Harris.
Your beautiful like the font garamad,but i want to see you sandarac, take your pants off.
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me,
And i observe your quirks oscillating, and I'm formulating, a g-string theory..
Like an archeologist,I'm gonna try and compute your age. cause i really want to date you.
You make me feel like a male giraffe. I want to nudge your **** and make you urinate,and mate you.
Scientific fact,thats what they do.
The value of my love for you cannot be expressed exactly. More rational then Pi.
Hey "****" is a legitimate word in scrabble, just FYI
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me.
You can **** me into your super massive black hole, the center of your galaxy. Im talkin ******.
I may not be the strongest or the prettiest, but my knowledge of grammar shines.
I know how to use the words  further and farther..correctly. Every fricken time.
Example:farther indicates physical distance
and further a depth or degree
example: the moon is getting farther from the earth
about 4 centimeters annually. Fun factoid,take it home with ya.
You just keep getting further into my heart.
You just keep getting farther into my heart.
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me,and if the situation is ambiguous, further and farther can be used interchangeably. Just a fun factoid.
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me.
Baby i less than 3 you.
So please take off your pants.

— The End —