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Raj Arumugam Oct 2011
I think you’ll see
life’s getting scary
there’s someone out there
who knows everything about me

See, everywhere in my emails
there’s some tortoise-shell reading
of my inner desires, needs and personality


Today for example
I’ve got several magic readings
several secret readings
Let's start with the first:
Meet **** women in your neighbourhood -
Oh my God, how did they know
I was thinking of my neighbour’s wife?
Make $4000 per week - work at home!
Oh my Dear Stars! How did they know?
Though with this of course I can combine
my need to meet all the **** women in my neighbourhood
while I’m making $4000 online
O it’s all so easy, see -
but scary


And it gets scarier with these mystics reading
my needs and wants
Grow an extra inch!
Oh! Oh! How do they know? How do they know?
Erectile problems? We’ve got the pills!
OK , listen guys - my wife has been talking
hasn’t she?
Best Buy ****** Generic Online - ****** 100mgX60 Pills $125
OK...my wife has certainly been talking! That precision exposes her!
And comes more:
Stop Snoring Tonight - Guaranteed!
Party on all night with our wonder pills...
Dental plans - Oh God! Defend me from these mind-readers!
They even know I’m losing my teeth and need dentures!
Is nothing sacred any more?

And there’s another one
and now it gets even scarier
cos they tell me things I didn’t know about myself:
Put on this bra and see your man rise to the occasion!
But Oh ye Aliens who observe all things human -
I always thought I was the man!
But maybe I never knew I am a woman actually?
for they keep coming:
Bras of all styles, types and sizes just for your body!
Dear God! Heavens!
Why have you done this to me?
Why do you create me as man, run a male program for over 5 decades
and then bring in these soothsayers
to break the harsh truth in a gentle way:
I am a woman - and needing more bras!
And one more:
Ladies, look 20 years younger with LifeCell!
I’m finished! I’m zilch!
I'm a woman and I'm getting old!
The magic weavers have found me out
the truth even I had not known...
Do you suffer from depression?
Yes! Yes! Oh - not before, but now yes! Yes!
The Scientific Breakthrough is here!
Oh, the devils know me! The devils are out to get me!


and so gentle reader
be you aware
the demons are out there
and lest you laugh at me
they may already have started work on you
they know every thought and wish and desire in your heart;
and if you don’t believe me - just check your emails - if you dare...
for I think you’ll agree
life’s getting scary
there’s someone out there
who knows innermost secrets
everything about you and me
... a halloween poem with a different twist...Happy halloween...
Ivan Brooks Sr Apr 2019
If yesterday was an old man,
He would be old by now.
His hair and lashes would
Be full of shining grey hair
And walking with a Kane.
He would probably be frail
And proudly speaking of the
Good old days marred with
Conquests and exploits from
From his youthful adventures.
The intricate details of his flamboyant
Years and youthful antics and shenanigans would bring sparkles
To his old wrinkled face.
There would be tears in his eyes
When lamenting on love and sorrows...
Squinting his eyes and fumbling to
Find faded photographs hidden away
In ancient boxes from dusty shelves.

If yesterday was an old man,
He would speak between bad dentures
With shaky voice of an aging legend.
He would go on and on with tales
Of all the places he has been and
Calling the old names of cities and
People long gone but alive in his
Now on and off and fading memories.
He would talk about voyages taken aboard old vessels packed with ancient
Cargoes and Slaves and whale oil barrels.
He would recount stories of monsters
At sea and great beasts that once roamed the earth when it was young
And green and void of pollution.
About places and people and various
Cultures ,would be captivating stories
That young people would only imagine and listen in absolute awe, almost to a point of envy for his rich stories of a good life once lived in the past.

If yesterday was an old man, he would have a repetoire of ancient skills and knowledge that no one has today.He would talk about locomotives and steamships captained by bearded old sailors with horse drawn couches driven by hardened cowboys and couch men.
 If yesterday was an old man, he would talk about world war one and two like it was just yesterday.

If yesterday was an old man, he would know more of yesterday than today.

#IvanBrooksPoetry ©️
4.16.2019
Yesterday as an old man means everything new would be looked at through the old way.
Joann Rolleston Jun 2014
Brush your teeth please
Do something listerine
Save up for a dentist
Or rip them out and get dentures

Totally inconsiderate
I think I'm gonna *****
I don't know whats worse
That or no deodorant

Why do I have to Poker face
Just to save you embarassment
This isn't your island private
Your on the train in public

Your space bubble is broken
I'm just about choking
Dam you good manners
I must behave and be decent

First world issue I know
A bit of a low blow
Now I write about it
So I can just forget it
I listened to the rain
And its pitter patter refrain
On the roof top
From a feathered pillow
Below,
Comforted by cashmere,
Chopsticks, Chinese take-out
And the memories of love made
And discarded
Like the red, white and blue wrapping
On my favorite snack,
*******-jacks...

Memories stuck between
Lust and commitment
Unflossed;

Leaving cavities of remorse
In the core of my cupid compulsion;

And I am reminded of the fabled lion
Whose toothless roar
Triggers not fright
But laughter
From his prey...

He savors and dreams of death....

There are no dentures
For toothless kings
And carnivores.

~ P
(#mycupidcompulsion)
(11/22/2013)
Raj Arumugam Mar 2012
You know kids laugh
at simple things, innocent
and a world before care and
worry
and so let’s laugh awhile here
with the kids

1
What color is a burp?

Hey, it’s burple!


2
What jam can’t you eat?

Hey, you can’t eat traffic jam, can you?



3
OK…the bird laid 100 eggs…
Guess what she said just after?

Hey, she said: Oh boy! – I’m egghausted!


4
Now what do you give
your neighbor’s dog if it keeps barking all night?

Well, give it a Barking Ticket!


5
And a duck goes out to eat
And what does it get after it eats?

Hey – what else? It gets a bill!




And so did you laugh with the kids?
good….
next time on our program
we’ll laugh with
grandma and grandpa;
*bring your own dentures
...the 5 jokes in the above poem are not mine...but you might like to praise me for the way I've strung them all into a poem, for reviving them in fun verse...most important, just laugh with us grown-up poet kids...
Jedd Ong Feb 2016
for my pastor, for my father, and for a friend.

6.
i find your name carved quiet by the windowsill
in an empty room.

5.
i find half your coat hanging wayside where once his coat was, too.

4.
father told me you too keep your dentures in a cup like grandfather’s.

3.
that you were there as he packed his bags and warbled off
for the hospital. you didn’t talk to him then
but still we knew. or so he did:

he caught you smiling by the desks where he worked.

2.
i find your photographs by the balcony,
and your footprints by the garden. bits of your
hair by the pavement next to candy wrappers and
pencil jars.

1.
together we pick up the pieces you left behind. and sew. and stitch
ourselves together. open our mouths in silence.

0.
we wait for your next visit.
He was a crossword puzzle in the local paper
and a raspberry danish with coffee on Sunday mornings &
an extra pinch of salt at dinner
or two.
He was a constant battle of Grampy vs. the squirrels
that raided the the birdfeeder
He was a top drawer candy stash and show tunes playing through the house
And 10 over when hitting those speed bumps
He was the only man I knew that would take his dentures out at DiMillos
& for those of you that don't know DiMillos, it's not the type of restaurant for such things
He was a broken belt on Thanksgiving,
but that wouldn't stop him until his pants were around his ankles
One thing always told me, "I'm gonna fall asleep before my head hits the pillow!" Which always left me in a state of curiosity
I can still hear his voice saying that one line from that one movie..
'You're the guy who overfed my goldfish'
and I'll never forget the way he replied whenever Nana scolded him
'Yes, lovey'
For all of the things my grandfather was, and always will be
He'll be remembered as a neighbor, a father, a husband,
And an amazing grandfather
Rest In Peace Gramps.
1931-2014
JAM May 2013
Ladies and Gentleman, I give you Brandon the boy in the bubble and Doctor Wise...

The boy in the bubble
Never wanted any trouble

People said "your too fragile you'll get cancer"
So he would just make believe, pretend he was a cool agile panther
People said "your body will crumble like wood flooring rots"
So he would pretend, staying humble that he could fly over the jungle with soaring hawks

Aisles of adventures were all he sought
" I'll be in this bubble til I'm wearin' dentures", so he thought...

His doctor would come every other day
Just to make sure everything was okay
He went by Dr. "W" first initial J

One random paralyzed tuesday
Brandon sat in his sterilized room lettin' blues play
The doctor came to repeat the check up
Brandon was the same from shoulders to feet and neat from the neck up
The doctor asked "Son why are you in this bubble?"
Brandon said "The people told me the air could **** me and the sun would be worst trouble"
The doctor told Brandon "the world is a mysterious place in our galaxy, but you'll never know for yourself until you go face the challenge B"

The doctor lifted the window wide open and let in the breeze
As the fresh air hit his face, Brandon didn't so much as sneeze

Brandon - "Wow doc you must save thousands of lives"

Dr. W - "Not really, I just tell people this; Everybody lives, everybody smiles, everybody cries, everybody dies and

EEEEVVVVERYBODY LIES...

-J.A.M
Amelia Jul 2015
once my teeth have all fallen out,
i will line them up like little bone tombstones,
and love my dentures more than
i will ever mourn my
flesh.
John Ryles Sep 2011
I look in the mirror,
It does not look right,
Is it a trick of the light?

I can still see clearly
My eyes are still bright.
But when I am reading,
I need more light.

My crooked teeth,
I used to hide.
Replaced by dentures,
And a smile that's wide.

Grey hair once was gold,
I am thinning now,
Where waves once rolled.

My hearing maybe dulled,
But that’s no surprise.
My ears are sprouting hair,
Like a funny disguise.

My face shows no stress,
Wrinkle free I’ve been blessed.
Just a little double chin,
Cheese and wine my only sins.

In my mind I’m still young,
But the reflection is right.
It's my face in the mirror,
No trick of the light.
Folks gather around
Theres a new sheriff in town
Me the one and only
Yosef coming explosives
As land mines keep eyes on one time
Time to shine like im glo mo
Blastin' guns at the temple's
Of the po pos
It dont matter as long as
I see the blood shatter
Make ya dreams shatter
When im on the mic i taster
The beat
Givin' total disaster
Im an F-5 tornado
Rippin' up **** everything is a target
The bars get
More ruthless
Knockin' out ya dentures
Leave ya toothless
Now ya talkin with a lisp
I burn through souls
Like an eclispe
Its total darkness
Make way for the king of the jungle
Born to rumble
So you critics can talk loud
But all i hear is mumbles
They crumbles
Like cookies at best they just rookie
Rest in peace to tookie
I crip walk and blood walk
Cuz we all one blood no crud in my eye
Cuz i never cry
Or laid down got many in a frown
Blink to fast and there will
Be a pistol to crown
Now let me see you smile fools
Talkin' loud but cant talk
With death in yo face
After the paper chase
Naw forget it i *******
Out the best and still couldnt get admitted
To a studio **** the rhymes and the fore play though
Im tryna reach your conscious so
But most stuck on nonsense
Day dreamin' i got the triple beam and
My guns be tag teamin'
Cuz they dont bust solo
So when ya see me holla bolo
So i can break into a cover
No other
Can lay it down quite like me
Im the really only emcee
Left this is my life and death
And if you got beef
Come with it come get it
But it will go stale
Got ya confined in my cell
Therapy
You cant **** with me
Im ghost
Cuz you know ya cant see me
Biaaaaasastch
blushing prince Dec 2015
There is a man in my dreams, always. He is neither foreign nor familiar. He never speaks but on the occasion that he does he is not boastful;
His lip never trembles or bleeds.
"All my days are the same, except some" he whispers.
" I should've been a woman, I should've been a man. I should've been anything but solitary knee caps & jail cells. I've lived in nothing but crowded apartments, fed on the flooded chatter of open windows!
Those moments where your heart is a hummingbird & the girl you love keeps skinning her ******* knee & for that there are heads being scalped."
I never reply to these confessions. He could be a lawman or a taxi repairman & it wouldn't make a difference because his missing teeth that he covers with dentures & the eyes that never fully close tell me I don't have to. This is not my show, not his airtime on the television. There's never a punchline, you see. His sins are never absolved & the only redemption he gets is that there's never dirt under his fingernails.
"I have lived enough" he continues
"To know that the samurai sword you try so hard to use for defense is only a swollen reminder that you've always been background noise at dinner parties, you don't know where to go without bumping into someone; the time is not over yet.
"There is no romance in finding your war and conquering it. My mother used to kiss me on the lips & my father used to beat me with a stick. You'd think these calluses would turn into poetry people would never be ashamed to read but my hands never stopped touching dirt."
He believes I'm listening, believes I understand. Looks at me & doesn't see a child; doesn't untangle the confusion inside the pockets of my dress. This, is the only time honesty counts.
"Somewhere between the hangovers & choking on all the keys I saved in coat pockets I couldn't figure out whether this was worth remembering, worth regurgitating to my children or women on bus stops
"I used to beat my wives & pretended that god enjoyed these charades; that my knuckles wouldn't feel so delicate, wouldn't be this tough if I wasn't designed to be. I looked at their cherub faces & all I could smell was gun powder, for this I never held a gun."
I looked at this man, cloudy-eyed. This man who belonged to no one; who never blew the dust off my hair but instead flicked ash onto my shoelace. This man with no name who forced me to hate him and yet when I closed my eyes there was only tenderness.
I wanted nothing more than for him to tell me something that made me comfortable in my own bed again.
"You see girl, you soon come to expect rooms without windows, people like burial grounds, that the shimmer doesn't last forever.
One day it's 9 p.m. on a ******* Friday night and you feel like a hospital rug, like a ****** motel carpet, like all the floorboards where your wife said the money you have to offer is not worth to die for and then what do you got?"
I wake up alone.
an earlier draft of this barely satisfactory missive ex post facto, i chomped asper with upper dentures upon evincing a couple of typographical errors, in up rye or draft, and did not wanna dodge being a spell bound stickler for typing words correctly.

though no obligation to trot out this fixation sans zero misspelling tolerance, a compulsion with any concomitant obsession found me reposting before a repast of dessert - so there Ghost of Marie Antoinette, wherever you might be hiding - i can have my cake and eat it too!

Minus trimmings and over stuffed ego freezers,
but altruism, civility, Dharma *** ethnocentrism,
gratuitous homogeneous internationalism,
karma mosaic opportunism, quitessential righteousness,
unpretentious vivacious wide world yipping,

brouhaha dutifully emphasizing friendliness,
antithetically booing critical, popularly pugnacious
spoiled trump petting uber western yikyak,
zealous antipathy craving everything.
---------------------------------------------------------
a hypothetical, mental, rhetorical thought question
   occurred to me just moments ago
sans, milk of human kindness bubbles frothily
   upon major American holiday,

   whereat figurative bro
   thar and sisters exhibit philanthropic ambitions
   especially, towards indigent that crow
for bare necessities

   other than
   when Thanksgiving rolls around, and dough
nuts to dollars even most frugal misanthropes
   play feigned charitable card egoistically glow
with ambient benevolence, civility,
   diligent energy, and friendly hello

and sundry pleasant greetings
   hook hood be some
   soon tubby rich entrepreneurial stranger
   ready to make shares available vis a vis  IPO

   to dirt poor anonymous guarillas G.I. Jane or G.I. Joe
   who cross paths with each other,
   even those one doth not know
when ordinary biases, callousness,

   denigration...doth full low
out the mouths of hoity toity MainLiners
   towards working class people - mow
awe less trying to remain financially afloat,
   and with plea for handout
   would receive an emphatic NO!

Thee exception to unspoken aristocratic rule
   arising on feted buzz
   feed ding occasions where oboe
players invoke cobra to deliver riches galore to the 'po

whom sincerely show gratitutde,
   yet wonder why status quo
reserves select calendrical dates for handouts
   proffered after standing in a row
of similarly bereft individuals aware at stark

   outpouring overt nurture minded, humanity
   (with perchance a guest appearance by Sean Hannity),
this public denouement,
   an atypical venue for his television show

where generosity spills forth
   from said personality and others alike
blithely, demonstrably, fortuitously, happily,
   jubilantly, lovingly, modestly, poignantly,
   where an announcer speaks thru a mike

to open their doors and hearts asper,
   those down and out
   pushing belongings along the pea king pike
of broken tureens with
   only a mangy dog as companionship,

and though I admit tubby hyperbolical,
   hypocritical, hypothetical hypoteneuse of hippopotamus
   no charity less valuable then self and spouse,
   whom both experience spike
in anxiety since net income purportedly
   below the poverty level, though we reside

   within subsidized housing (outliers
   here at 2 Highland Manor Drive),
   yet random acts of an effortless smile,
   cordial greeting to passersby, or
   waving fellow drivers right of way,
Page Number Three:

such minimally polite services today,
the most within my limited monetary hi say
means, which behavior aye strive ray
   dee to maintain zero cost politesse, which doth pay
highest dividends, which reciprocal acknowledge may
be the greatest reward,

   whether or not a response elicited tis quite o kay
the satisfaction arising breeching comfort zone
   viz exposure therapy lighting up gray
matter analogous to a cerebral Christmas tree
   and any regret avoided, asper congenial efforts    
   generate “hi” kickstarts my day.
JWolfeB Nov 2014
Her fingertips smelt of ashtray
The air stale like the dentures in her purse.
We try not to talk as much in small rooms
Everything seems to get complicated
Too busy
Words wrapped around our throats
Choking our ability to speak honestly

The stone slate she laid upon was once called a bed
Sleep can’t happen on such a platform
Stiff as the pain she feels on days
Like everyday
She told me the dreams she had once
The ones about living her life

These dreams were filled with elation
Something to fill the empty side of the bed
Her tongue was dry
From talking about these dreams
The ones that never happen
Ever
They were stolen from her
Stuffed into a newspaper article

Her dreams reside in the morphine drip
Clenched deep inside her fist
Holding on to anything
Onto her sons
Gods gift upon this earth
A reason to resist deaths shadow

For another chance to say I love you
Be strong my boys
Be wise
Treat your woman like you treated me
Love the way I love you
Smile for it gave me a reason to live
Missing her as 2 years approaches.
Poetic T Dec 2014
My lips are sealed, I smell
Each breath
In
&
Out
Be calm
For each inhale must
Be a calm exhale,
They came in darkness
Not seen until to late
There are no stitches
Calm breath
Out
&
In
I look at myself in
"Silence"
Inside I scream, many
Self mutilated to taste
Air
Tongue,
Teeth,
Not as before, dentures now fused
Like bone, they collide with force
Rock,
Metal,
Sharpened
Objects with a frenzy they smashed,
They bleed, coughing through there nose
Mucus expelled, then blood,
A whimper heard before
Choking on last breath,
"We now stay silent"
"Once top of all things"
"But now we are the ones bent on our knees"
We serve them in silence
"We are masters no more"
"Just cockroaches"
That they crush under their foot,
Be calm,
In
&
Out
We do not scream
We shed but tears and then no more.
Robin Carretti May 2018
Are we getting milk from the cow

And how just do it now
Chosen Pick
Like Hockey Canadian
Cup the puck

"Grand Waterfalls"
it beacons me
enlightens you
Smiley whites you
just got to see
My tooth got pulled
Sweet jammed
Not such luck

Did it become the
Expedition I
was deep 2-B
fooled
To Teeth me
schooled
Or text me
The next tooth
It's a sign which
you will never
understand

It's about teeth_

Not you're first
baby teeth
Just take a breath
The picked wrench
The tooth spy is sitting
on the bench
Fortune Gypsy
tellers

Gold diggers
tooth dwellers
Who got the worst
teeth sinners

The winners of
blackmail
The white pearly lie
Email teeth smiling
Eating hard taffy
Like she is dying
The tooth fairy
is coming lielie
Pinnochio__

This is a hell
video Mario
I am gamed

We had a deal
Big bad tooth
Chosen Hybrid
Wolf
transformation
****** Vampire tooth
bleed demonstration
sensation
Chosen one she got
frozen ice vibration
How he picked me
out of random

The good bones he was
my biggest
Fan broken tooth
he leads me
in his pick me
electrocuted

His chair the fandom
The scared vibe
The proud tooth
Indian  Bow- Wow!!
Tribe

The Patheos
Chosen Dino
Rhinoceros
Posterous
Serial killer
Eating her tooth
In her Cheerios!!
Cheers to Miss
Cherries
Near the tree bark
berries
****** strawberries
Stained her love teeth
He was called Mark
Teeth me

Don't iron me
Stark white
My hero's
Sidekick
Upper bite
Hard candy
My Cousin Vinny
Tooth lawyer
So canny
Some Sport
Teressa Tomei
Fantasy-Court
Island  

Pompeii
She chose
Portofino
My biological
teeth
are clicking
Mr. Buck's
big lotto

Starbucks coffee stained
Yellow below---
White armor pillow
Godfather fellow
Apple computer
Electrified plugging

Pulled some
Mob of teeth
The horse's mouth
Desperately Susan
Tooth swelled up
Made her Mom
fed up

Her smile
Snow White
and the seven
decks of dwarfs
The surf and turf
internet
Being dragged like
pulling teeth braces set
Brooklyn born traces
song duet
More teeth
chattering
Painful fee's
Down to her very root
Like a fern tooth twisted
She needed more
calcium what a knock
out tooth came out
Tackle
Football pick her

"Apple Snapple"
Movie stars
Teeth daily double
What fossils of bones

Her toothache
sadistically
he raves
*
The Dentist showed her
the Xrays all time
delays

Like a woodchuck
chucking wood
Her teeth were
discoloring
Blame Snow White*
She felt like he was the
The Dentist like
King Kong
Her tooth on display
She was wearing her
thong
Eventually, her tooth
came out
Just my luck
seven teeth to
be pulled
The professor
Commentator

He didn't know how to
love her
What a guesser in both
He knew every tooth
He didn't want to
lose her

To be pushed and shoved
This felt like a painful love
the right Dentist
shaped tooth
cup
Do ***
The Cop
Just stop him
His tooth
Got capped
Bullet shots

Teeth me again
We will see what remains
The proof is in the pudding
Big smile proofreading
The bite of her apple
her teeth started
to have more
bleeding Eve yuck

Life descending Adam
Her tooth for his tooth
Like a job of swapping
Never Ends
_

The back of her mouth
Her root canals never end
Romancing in Venice canal
She turned into the dark
Goth
Crooked Smile
Hannibal
Tried to make her smile
She was the hunter
Crazed like a cannibal;
"Lighten Up"
Pearly more cultured
Yellow up
Girly more dentures
Cleanse your teeth
Save your tooth
The sign of the man
of the cloth


The Sentinel for both
Ready to be Chicken hatched
Not giving up her tooth
But painful enough it was
a tooth decay
The classic
Leave it to
******'s teeth
Mom changed getting
an extraction
she went with her
Mr. Cleaver
The Driller

Her big tooth mailbox
Inside her chosen tooth
Like the Psychic lady booth
Told her tooth is worth

The pain
Wall Street
She had loads
to gain

Their teeth collided
money chilling
Her gums sherlock
changing

Like cinders of Cinderella
in ashes her smile he passes
At birth, the luck tooth was left
by her crib the fairy took it
It became a fortune so worth

You never know who you

will meet at birth?

Just smile if your tooth
is aching
Is it in a tooth fortune teller she knows whats up with a rotten tooth
Geno Cattouse Jun 2013
My ****** left knee.tribute. A testosterone. All or nothing gonna punk your ***. Make you eat grass. Coccussion dealing. See pretty stars. Have you barkin at ants. Down on one knee how many fingers do you see.

High speed collisions. Last second decisions to duck or not to duck. That is the question. A small tribute to pay would not have it any other way.

Whether tis nobler in the mind to go ***** to the wall a nothing or all
Venture. Get you fitted later for dentures. Pickin up chicklets of
the floor. No mouth piece ?. But I. Didn't know. ****.

Sorry.
Trauma enduced D.J.D. degnerative joint disease. Right knee with severe cartilageneous breakdown.
Not fully commited to the idea of play now pay later
Just worked out thatta way. I enjoyed/enjoy fitness and competition.still running, lifting ,breating hard, getting sore and getting the best out of my body.
Jon Tobias Oct 2011
As I look up at the sun and burn my eyes
I realize the world looks more beautiful when it’s dark
Looks like waves of light against the black
Like a music screen saver on a computer

As I hold the rose she gave me
I realize it is far less beautiful without its thorns
Looks naked and defenseless
Like rusty bear trap dentures

Grandmother always smelled like
The green part of the garden
And bit like the bitter bark she fed me
When she didn’t want to waste soap
On my ***** mouth

She said even my feet were too large
For the garden she tended
So I could not smell the roses
Or pick the tomatoes
Or rub my fingers against the thyme

I could not climb the trees
Or pluck worms from the earth
Early in the morning
Before the sun warmed the soil

So I stood
like a sunflower
Praying to grow tall one day
And stared at the sun
And realized
The world is just as pretty when it is dark
The poor men will rise with the searchlight of God streaming out from their eyes and the sinner shall have this day.

On the *** of the city where the fat cats and pretty boys walk,,where the talk is of bonds and debentures,diamonds in dentures and pearl driven breath,
there,
where the air lingers sad and the crazy man had all the luck he would get,and
standing tight on the floor calling more,give me more as if enough was not a feast,was
Jimmy Malone at home in the square mile and though crooked his smile he was as straight as a die,
he'd say, 'good morning my dear' with a grin or a leer and you knew you'd be faked out or taken down in the trading,but he was honest enough among the shylocks and tough boys who used to be hawkers down in the markets until Thatcher (the plot hatcher) showed them the yellow brick clique down in Threadneedle street,but
now they're just wide boys with big gobs,the new gentlemen fat slobs,pinstriped fat **** wipes who ain't got no time for their roots,all bar Jimmy Malone,
who calls mum and dad twice weekly at home and sends a cheque through the post to the boys club in Sligo where the young lads still go to learn how to live.
This is give and take city where nothing's given freely not even pity,where you're charged for your time by the dollar or the dime and the rich will stitch you sideways which only proves that crime does pay.
It's the sinners who win in the end,
while we're chasing geese they're fleecing us blind,I don't mind that's just life,sometimes I wish I was living it and
not shoveling ****.
absinthe Jan 2017
feeling burdened—it tends to happen
particularly when meddling impressions run rampant
swarm circles in my hefty head, ignore the next exit ramp, and
let devils' advocates covet the cove i donned my dome once upon never

although i know this may be chalked up to intelligence
and subsequent ignorant claims that swear it's heaven sent
i swear it’s not for me. so tell all the hell-bent docents to leave
and let live my cognizance dim—to do what i can’t. to let it be.

it is what it is
and what it is
is it’s
excessive

i don’t need no informants
playing mentee won’t mend me
i’m torn sufficiently
far as i can see, it seems

don’t mentor she who beseeches
by way of screams and screeches
me and my strings are beat
by ****** and needless needles’
stitches and ventures heedless

i’m piecing my torn fabric
it’s grown so thick
it’s a feat, recognition
when simple addition alters
fact into fabrication

like my elation
in inebriation
guards sorrow
from knocking at my door
knocks my guard down
and has me floored

it hits my inhibition too
and i’m home-free
no guilt signaling
and i pull singles
i switch with tickets
i use to ticket my skin

no appointment
nor disappointment
walking in walk-in clinics
and sketchy shops
flickering the light
it sheds on both
my faces. i can face them
only with this double vision

i watch mark
as his sketches mark me
like stretch marks,
remarkably

in hopes of realizing on the double
the vision i envision into reality
he lets me let him put his hands on me
seemingly steadily
and we feel as our arms stretch

he draws me in
fills me ink
and vibrant me pends
his vibrating steel
and sharp pens
as they liven
my limp existence
reincarnating me instantly  

after sweet sleep
i wake bitter for some reason
feel dull but also sharp-ied
peeping the nonsense i let seep steeply
into my skin last night when i was peaking

now i can reminisce
on the pain of squirming
wallow over it instead, and
not the overflown gore of streams

and catastrophic waterfalls
that break through my largest *****'s walls
they leave what makes me, me,
with breakthroughs of which it can only dream

if only i can fall like the tears asleep
that crash and wave and overshadow my role
in turn leaving without desire
to turn over no stone
nor use any for stepping on
like the ones more close to normal
do coax

i do it all wrong
like they did me
i walk on coal
though from here
it appears
as though i'm an anomaly
only my sole seethes

when on the rocks
my walker, he makes me so strong
he lets me drink him from dusk to dawn  
he says he’d **** for me from here on
i love how foreign i am to him like heron

not the bird though it’s true
us three often see hues blue
we soar blue skies when our hearts fume blue
and they feel too sore like brews do
when they're too soft to heal each bruise or
make room for pain to grow and strength to bloom
so i walk on water as walker

kills me
he’s to die for
imploring in notes low
that i not stop, so i hop on
and once it’s well thought over
he can tell
overthinking’s my problem

i stand alone in the corner,
my core knows
all my o’s and woes
can be all gone
once one o centerfolds corner
and in comes the
coroner

who walks and rear-ends me
and e-r lose hope and leave me
when he cores me from his soul
and i let my breath roam

but he sends me
soaring over the moon
soon as he shows how he listens
and soon we both know
blinding luminescence

my eyes when they glisten
make all my mourning go missing
like the overthinking overkill
i hit when morning rays missile

and he curtails them at curtains
blacker than the blacklist
my man drenched
my nemesis in
deep sleep
with the fishes  

eventually, however
again and against my will, i endeavor
on reading the biography i penned
block my own writing
and let writers block lock me in
i get stuck on the same page
thought no force impedes
the power i home in my palms
nor my thumb's ability to thumb
through the page
yet i somehow flip it
and become my own victim

i did it.
it tells the history of tears
now extinct due to me overbearing
leading to drainage that came as
the very last bead beat me
for forbidding fibs
and calling dibs on *******

still, ringing in my ears
leaks empathy
for crocodile tears
trickling
as they salivate
over their next meal,
me

i swallow my tongue
not realizing fully
i’d just had my last meal
because they consumed me
quietly
with quibbles
and plots of consuming me
openly

ignorance is less so whats lacks
and with no inkling of doubt
worse in terms of that
which the mind keeps
then refuses to release
when need be
hence: me

after i head over
obvious traps
i let flash
atop my head

like clouds overcast
i’m convinced i tripped
on my own heels
like thunder that strikes
one man down twice
out of spite

but in spite
of everything, now that i know,
my eyes and i are drained no more
see, we’ve ever since grown more so
and metamorphosed
beyond words morbid

like those i anticipate
my gravestone
will go on
to hold

this is the reality of being kept cold-cut as meat
that heads *******, idiots, dunces, cons, and so on
those who bring forth obstacles that spurt in growth
inch by inch quicker than their thickening skulls

each time
the sage i pick thinks
my life needs spicing up, either
my screams of agony are mistaken
and my inseams nipped at the bud

or my spirits appear uplifted
and mistaken are my sorrow-filled tears
with joy-plagued wails,
each time
deep-seated sage seeds **** my green

lord knows that while i understand—to some degree
the world can’t come close or know what brews
in the disorganized chaos that is me intrinsically
i don’t fib when i allege that my angle isn’t deceit

nor right, necessarily
just dense as these
basins, wrinkles and dents
my tense cortex insists on heaving  

it would be obtuse of me
to anticipate that anybody
would watch my back
if not mine and me

it's all only a tactic
and i may feign obliviousness
to support this spinelessness
and keep it all in tact

insects fester
i feel each tentacle
extend incessantly
like these rants

they all ax my lumbar
no one's barred from my club
lumberjacks and jack’s slumber
i only lust after the latter

and jack's not all bad
he’s why my caps rested
soon as he hands it to me,
expressing the extent to which

i impress him
granted
my hands-off approach
that manages
to get hard jobs done
better than jills before

he’s a mild nuisance
when one of us isn’t speaking
but he promotes my irritability
with his attempts at weaving
our fingers together

it offends me
and all i long for
is knocking him out
like him and my neck's heart

or my kneecaps’ kneepads
the cap that’s my hat
can at last roll fast,
though no one should ask

i can’t say if i’m ok
jack ko’d my voice box
and i feel highjacked
but i insist, they insist
on the charm of the third

one i get him
like the lights, off,
that’s when i go on to hop off
tip toe off his tip top to get off
on the silence my mind writes off

none of it matters to me
mankind ramps up my love for luxury
the ivory warmth Mr. Browns rain
all over my cold windshield
puts me where i love to be

without them,
antidepressants
would depress and hail on
but their chocolate depressants
elevate me and i hail mary
when they hail hope on me
and i'm newly merry

when it’s all over,
i seek refuge and rush down
and on to the one and only John
where rest can be found
he’s bold as kohl and cold
as his marble floors call for

it's he who keeps my thoughts snowed in
and spares my teeth cracks no dentures can fix
suppresses my urge to purge like Snowden honing in
on how not one man cares less for one careless node in
systems nor the cancerous danger of no protests nor dents

it’s tasteless, the rice that is humanity
so i dine solitarily
in solemn grief
seeing the uselessness we
as crumbs and morsels have come to be

individuals in division
invincible in coalescence
bound to form solid solidarity
likely as the moment

satan and saint agree
to raise their satin
black and white flags,
respectively

to enwrap
two into
one
fabric. silky, smooth, seamless
as is the cocoon
          i once was foolish enough to assume
    would secure the very same wholesome skin
                         it would later go on
to help me consume.

cannibalism.
Michael Parish Oct 2013
Regular malcolm knockedn in pool ***** alnite.
Unquestionable malcolm polietly goofed off.
But a stranger advice made our malcolm
unruly with himself.
It was a joke he heard.
But he needed to be serious.
Instead malcolm became to
***** and was consciencely warned.
It was no big deal but the same
people wouldnt quit thinking
about how to rethink a sanerio
which was not worth thinking about.
Malcolm left to finish his game.
Its normal, but he should of
hung around.  
I used to close my eyes before I could see
my life and every moment I dreamed
to look for.  Twice I missed out on making love
because nothing important ever happened.
I survived years never believing I had what
we see in other peoples talent.  All the world,
All the cars have me in their passenger seats.  
I never drove away from what I lost when
2010 couldnt keep the house from slipping
jobs with less and less money.  My fathers apologies,
Dont be sorry, I told you never to be sorry.  I caved in
last month  when my palms covered my eyes because
I remebered my name in permanent marker in the garage.
And my mother having to settle with the last thirty years she spent
Molding dentures.  Now a dream to her when she puts on a thick purple coat
In the cold reality that good work is hard to find.
Ben Jones Dec 2020
A legendary sweet tooth, had Lady Felicity Barratt
So swift towards the sugar bowl, so wary of the carrot
She dined on only trifle from a honey coated spoon
But tooth decay accosted her and left her in a swoon

By the time she turned just twenty, her two front teeth were gone
By thirty she was running short and on her final one
When that fell out, she sought a dentist, promptly one arrived
She opened up her grizzly mouth and in the fella dived

He took a cast and took his leave with dentures to be hewn
With satisfaction guaranteed by Friday afternoon
And never did the lady have a reason to suspect
The secret intervention of an evil dental sect

By bribing several bakeries and sweetie shops and stalls
A dossier had been compiled within their sacred halls
For crimes against good dentistry were nothing short of sin
Their retribution must be swift or people might join in

They cast her teeth from coffin nails beneath a devil's moon
With Jack the Ripper's upper set, extracted from his tomb
Then polished with the handkerchief of ******'s former cleaner
Stored in Machiavelli's purse, to make them all the meaner

Upon that self same Friday, at the very cusp of noon
One Doctor Bingo Rogers and his burly hired goon
Came knocking at her premises with dental kit and drills
With a mission to sedate her and to exercise their skills

They knocked her out with ethanol and chloroform and air
And strapped her to a hastily erected dentist's chair
The evil teeth were lodged in place and ******* into her gums
The bill was quite extortionate, for monumental sums

The shamanic orthodontist, with his henchman in his wake
A martyr to the vegetable and nemesis of cake
Was keen to see his handiwork and kept a watchful eye
For curious occurrences, as days went slowly by

By Christmas there was nothing, until on New Year's Eve
Her teeth got uncooperative and forced the girl to leave
They dragged her by her dainty face and led her to the shops
She stood and munched on sugar canes and giant lollipops

They stuffed her face with chocolates, still nestled in their packets
And then a rack of nylon shirts and seven leather jackets
On every size of shoe, she munched; from sixes up to twelves
She nibbled through the party food and gnawed upon the shelves

Then off she sped, into the street, to pursue a passing horse
Dragged along by wicked teeth and supernatural force
But dentures lack in vision, and especially at pace
So when she caught it by the foot she caught it in the face

She skidded to a grizzly halt with arms and legs all twisted
And next to her, a note with all her dental errors listed
So beware the wrath of dentists and obey when they command
And sleep with one eye open and a carrot close to hand

For though our poor Felicity was buried good and hard
Despite floral cupcake with the Dental Cult's regard
And though her body, to this day, lies safely in the ground
The horse escaped that evening and the teeth were never found...
JR Rhine Mar 2016
I cradled the unfurling shed snakeskin delicately
admiring the imprint of faces and places
swallowed up in time.

An ancient amative light sat patiently
on the blank sheet
before the electric medium;
the electric medium sitting buzzing
eager to tell another silent story.

I wrapped the skin around its spindle;
and from its den I extracted slowly and cautiously,
urging the skin into the hungry buzzing medium--

And minute punctures in the skin,
where the projector's teeth sink in,
whose teeth chatter like plastic wind up dentures
as the skin passes snake-like through its dusty plastic entrails.

The tattooed skin is illuminated at the heart of the vessel--
where the countenance of a single solitary bulb
omits a radiance, brilliant and magnificent--
powerful enough to cast the skin like a shooting star
across the darkened room

onto the patient white sheet
where my eyes await the tattooed memories
to dance before me.

I sit in my torn and weathered leather chair
echoing the silence of the screen--
(hypnotized by the hum of the projector--
an incessant electrical drone accompanied by the bombinate
incantations of chattering crickets.)

The stories are shielded from my inquisition
by layers of translucent grain
that leave textures gritty--
and a soft focus that leaves faces obscure
and expressions ambiguous.

(How clever you are to stay silent,
and leave me in such tempestuous musings!)

Vast pores pop up excitedly burned and scabbed intrusions
and if you linger for too long
the brilliance of the glare will burn into you--

Like the shaman who dances too close to the holy fire.
Like Apollo flying too close to the sun.

I must be careful,
and fully aware--
of your transience.

These ambulant hieroglyphs
speak volumes in their silence--
and I find myself drawn
to the blurry smiling faces
as they peer into my soul.

History breathes.
and History repeats.
but lies silent
in the sands of Time.
Becoming muddled,
but waiting.
for its story to be told;
for the mediums to rise from the grave.

I suddenly agnize myself as the last generation
to have its memories and histories burned onto tape.
and as I sit here I wonder
of the Society
whose soul I will peer into--
when I am unearthed
out of the sands of Time.
Working with 8mm film.
Folks gather around
Theres a new sheriff in town
Me the one and only
Yosef coming explosives
As land mines keep eyes on one time
Time to shine like im glo mo
Blastin' guns at the temple's
Of the po pos
It dont matter as long as
I see the blood shatter
Make ya dreams shatter
When im on the mic i taster
The beat
Givin' total disaster
Im an F-5 tornado
Rippin' up **** everything is a target
The bars get
More ruthless
Knockin' out ya dentures
Leave ya toothless
Now ya talkin with a lisp
I burn through souls
Like an eclispe
Its total darkness
Make way for the king of the jungle
Born to rumble
So you critics can talk loud
But all i hear is mumbles
They crumbles
Like cookies at best they just rookie
Rest in peace to tookie
I crip walk and blood walk
Cuz we all one blood no crud in my eye
Cuz i never cry
Or laid down got many in a frown
Blink to fast and there will
Be a pistol to crown
Now let me see you smile fools
Talkin' loud but cant talk
With death in yo face
After the paper chase
Naw forget it i *******
Out the best and still couldnt get admitted
To a studio **** the rhymes and the fore play though
Im tryna reach your conscious so
But most stuck on nonsense
Day dreamin' i got the triple beam and
My guns be tag teamin'
Cuz they dont bust solo
So when ya see me holla bolo
So i can break into a cover
No other
Can lay it down quite like me
Im the really only emcee
Left this is my life and death
And if you got beef
Come with it come get it
But it will go stale
Got ya confined in my cell
Therapy
You cant **** with me
Im ghost
Cuz you know ya cant see me
Biaaaaasastch
victor tripp Oct 2013
in my nursing home room within these carpeted halls,who do you see? probably a sharp tongued old woman with polident kept dentures, a white mane of unruly hair,thick ankles in short socks vein lined legs, a portly shaped body draped in   a cotton patterned nightgown covering a depends.pictures on the wall of old memories,with alife slowly heading to a closing chapter. but I see a young girl of twenty three holding the arm of a world war two soldier,standing with me before the altar exchanging vows.the hospital picture with my nursing first born son of six sons.a house  on holidays filled with bubbling laughter, and welcome toasts with a bountiful  food table. a granddaughter who finished at the top of her class ready to defend those falsely accused pro bono. a picture of myself before marriage dancing  a first ballet.i see your youth, you see my worn down old age. I hear you speak of far away vacations,that my body and limited funds cannot take. you see a world ripe with opportunies, I see bedbaths, a bag of  waste to change,family members rarely seen . you see the hands on the wall clock not spinning fast enough for check out and the party awaiting. now in these final moments I see what you can't see,angels  coming in bursts of bright light and golden wings, to bear me away from this painful suffering life.
Mike Hauser Apr 2014
As time quickly approaches
On the planed escape
Gunther smuggles the files in
While Mildred bakes the cake

But that doesn't much matter
For our two on the run
In all the confusion
The oven was never turned on

So they slipped out the front door
When Gladys the receptionist was gone
Out for her morning coffee
And cigarette on the lawn

They made it as far as the sidewalk
As far as the authorities could tell
When they both turned around
Before their bladders gave out

They need a new plan of escape
One that can be followed with ease
Before it's to late
Since they're both weak in the knees

Our hero's will have to wait another day
For their chance at freedoms song
For now they'll hang up their walkers
And devise another plan on getting gone

It was a heated night of Bingo
When Gunther got the idea
They'd go out with the wash
In a basket both hid

So they packed up their dentures
Along with their Poly Grip
As both of them readied
For their laundry trip

Now in the back of the truck
Rolling down 95
Same age as our escapee's
If you care to count time

They later hijacked the truck
When the driver they sacked
Now they travel life's highway
With nothing but the wind to their back
Wrote this for a friend that wanted some poems that she could read to her mom and fellow inmates at her nursing home...Hope they like it!
Brent Kincaid Oct 2016
So many roads I have walked
That I sometimes forget the path.
I’ve been around for decades now.
I’m rather old, so do the math.
So many names and so many faces
I knew and loved have come and gone.
I learned long ago, to let them go
To cherish our time and then move on.

Yesterday’s in-jokes like hairdos
Have changed and been forgotten.
I am not the same kid today I was
Back when my hair looked like cotton.
I don’t run as fast as I once did;
I am not much into random chasing.
Much of the drive I had long ago
Is ever so slowly self-erasing.

I do recall leaping off my couch
To take the day by the throat.
These days, I rise rather noisily
Sounding like an aging old goat.
I have to carefully watch my diet
Because things no longer function
The way they used to back then,
At a former, youthful junction.

But oh the memories I do recall
Of lovely people and adventures.
Back when I was free of arthritis
And unplagued by any dentures.
I still try to be that person now,
But I am dancing much more seldom.
Instead of being on my roller skates
I am on eBay trying to sell them.
Megan Parson Nov 2018
Do eerie screeches startle you at night?
Or screaming banshees, your worst fear highlight?
Sudden rumbling on a rusted line,
Flashing lights that freeze your spine!

A full Moon on a motionless sky,
Tis when steam engines haunt nigh.
Departed, are its crew & passengers,
A grandma, wearing her dentures.

Chubby children waving goodbyes,
Fixed with icy cold eyes.
Stuck in speeding time,
Urging me to write this rhyme.

Waiting for that day,
When the bogies no longer sway.
...Written during a train journey...
Vernon Waring Jul 2015
This is not a poem about unrequited love
             not a poem about the changing of the seasons,
                                                    babb­ling brooks,
                                                    cloud­less skies,
                                                    Englis­h gardens in full bloom

             not a poem about setting suns, starry skies,
                                             full moons, glittering galaxies    

             not a poem about absent fathers,
                                             weepy mothers or your cranky old
                                             Aunt Clara in the attic plotting
                                             your death while her dentures soak
                                             in a Polident bath cup

             not a poem about the existence or non-existence of
                                                    a Supreme Being

             not a poem about when you abandoned your children
                                             or when your children abandoned you

             not a poem about poverty, social isolation,
                                             the Holocaust, war, the evils of
                                             capitalism, the specter of  injustice,
                                             the injustice of inequality, the
                                             inequality of injustice or any other
                                             word attached to the prefix "in"

             not a poem about ****** conquest, ****** dreams,
                                             the effects of liquor or drugs
                                             on one's libido

             not a poem that uses the f-word, the s-word, the c-word
                                                         ...or any of the other
                                                           ­ objectionable words used
                                                            ­to "front" the remaining
                                                       ­     letters of the alphabet

This
is
clearly
a
poem
about
what
is
not a poem
Mike Essig Mar 2016
Grab Your ***** And Hide The Starch!*

Begin the day with a lean and hungry cook. Seize her.
Catch the tide or lose your dentures. Vault of jars.
Cry "Amuck!" and let slip the hogs of yore.
Bid me done, and I will thrive on the impossible.
This foul **** shall stink above the hearth.
Pardon me, you breeding piece of worth.
You crocks, you crones, you worse than senseless things!
Consider the I'd's and beware of scam.
Perhaps by dusk you can say: This was a yam!

  ~mce
devante moore Mar 2015
Even when my hair turns grey
When I have to wear dentures
Because my teeth no longer want to stay
Even when I need a cane
Because my legs shake when I stand
When the officers confiscate my license
Because I can't stay in one lane
I will love you even when my eye sight fades away
When my ears hangs lower then my face
I will love you forever and a day
Long after my back gives out
Even when deafness forces a hearing aid
When my hands shake uncontrollably
Never would my love go away
I would love you even when my kidneys give
When my brittle bones leave me bed ridden
My love would last when the days of prune juice becomes my friend
Even when clinching my hands Becomes to much to stand  
Old age would only intensify it
Even though my memory fights me
When I think of you it looses its battle today
I will love one thousands years
And tomorrow I will love you one thousand years more
Forever
Charlie Chirico May 2015
If rock bottom is melted ice;
diluted whiskey becomes the last
drink the goes down far too easy.
Red eyes stay dry because of a cap
left off a bottle that succumbed
to evaporation, and squinting to read
the ingredients is as useful as calling
the Sandman for a loan. That's proof
that sleep doesn't cure all ailments.
Try biting into a cactus for a drink
of water and swallowing with a barb
lodged in your throat. You would have
better luck winking with both eyes and
smiling with no teeth. Hope for an
eye-patch and set of dentures, or a
gun to the temple loaded with blanks.
That's the amount of sense everything
makes when you're stuck between a
rock and a hard place, or thrashing
in quicksand. So when you set fire to
wooden bridges or cut cables of steel
the width of a forearm you're left with
a cracked foundation and the body of
a home carried miles away by a cyclone
of wind. Just hope you're not a continent
made of ice that melts and swallows the rest.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
i find it scary that i found proving god
was easier than proving
someone to share a life with -
that i found a deity's imperfections
more justifiable than the imperfections
of mortal beings....
i really appear as a cold-heartless
selfish swine / solipsist -
                                                yes,
that's how it is...
                               i found it easier to prove
god with everyone jumping the bandwagon
of circus acrobats and hospital surgeons,
and disk jockeys never playing in extremo
or die krupps -
because it was easier to argue the non-existence
of such a being, with colonially ardent dismissals,
because like Lethal Weapon II and the apartheid
master race choke-joke... sing me a king crimson song
you ****!                 oh right,
                                  no Pirates of the Caribbean then,
               fair enough.
                                            but we're
all up for cheese, when reconnaissance
just means: otherwise Renaissance.
                                                 bridal chambers
lefty, and if it was a hoarded arrangement...
then the curry house did
tailor the bridal dress, to avert ivory white
and instead lace the cotton with white boys'
turmeric coloured dentures worthy of
that bridal pattern that would sooner bed
a widow than a ******, if as suggested,
                     then i'm your man;
or the random **** and jalfrezi of the alcoholic's
twitchy hand...
                          oh sure,
alcoholism is a bit like exploring the Amazonian
****- / acid-forest, 'cos' we all care about the globalisation
of our private parts having established the whereabouts
of our petted dogs in the publishing industry
as: well, doing quiet well; never thought
that a woof would be so hard to find as an echo...
apparently a woof was hard to find, which is why
dogs recieved publishing contracts. also:
                             funny how i'm half ashamed and
half of anything that comes when providing a compilation
of shame cut in half with something engaging
                                        some sort of arousal
to make an arsenal out of and later simply shoot
blanks.
Zachary Jan 2014
good
rid
dunce
i broke it up not to pre
nounce  
what does satan do when he gets ripped off by he coke deal buy an ounce
thats the exact reason why i cant fill this *****
you said only take whats given
but id rather live and deal with sinnin
so you know there is still work to be done
living life is happy when you're ******* a nun
treat her to dinner or go finger the sun
youll get burnt by either so why lose the fun
its a favor and its been for granted
lets leave her name down as planted
its stuck as tho my ink can manage
taped to my heart like a bandage
anchored to my soul ive been drowned *****
pull the ******* plug because im now damaged
finished now start as if he planned this
its temper does flare
as those lucky spineless dentures stare
im sorry to disrepute the oldie
but ***** could drive a fast in a fourty if it was for thee
to be on time
but it was for me
it was a trigger and finger that she will now never adore he
good
rid
dunce
i broke it up not to pre
nounce  
what does satan do when he gets ripped off by he coke deal buy an ounce
thats the exact reason why i cant fill this when it counts
you said only take whats given
but id rather live and deal with sinnin
so you know there is still work to be done
living life is happy when you're ******* a nun
treat her to dinner or go finger the sun
youll get burnt by either so why lose the fun

— The End —