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"dirk" poems
In fair Verona where Will set the scene Belle Fortune moves the markers up and down. Two households both alike in dignity Fiercely compete for fear of losing ground. When Juliet saw Romeo at the dance Events were set in motion that, perchance, Would see fair Juliet as our Romeo’s bride but ultimately result in her suicide. With Tybalt and Mercutio both dead, And Capulet and Montague estranged. Young Paris sought fair Juliet to wed not knowing of her loss of maiden-head. Romeo was banished for his crime, a sin for which a peasant would have died Their two households, joined because they wed, remained divided by their foolish pride. Summer’s fierce heat shimmered in the air, oppressive in the absence of a breeze. With Friar Lawrence’s help, Romeo’s girl played dead, as if struck down by some unknown disease Romeo , in Mantua, heard that his Juliet Lay dead amongst the sleeping Capulets. A draught of deadly poison he obtained So they might sleep together once again. When Romeo met Paris at her tomb, Words led to swordplay, leaving Paris dead. Would not the world have been a better place if Romeo had kept it sheathed instead? Unshriven, Romeo drank the poison down- the only son of Montague now dead. Perchance just then fair Juliet revives Bereaved, she took his Dirk to bed instead. Authorities, arriving at the scene, could only mourn a brace of kinsmen lost. Capulet and Montague were reconciled Their amity bought at a fearful cost.
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May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 7:47 AM UTC
Juliet and Romeo
Beowulf the hier of nothing of rot Mother  he know not Raised in shame banished wroght Returned to his village to seek wrothgar a father he yet sought News of death the sorrow he fought Till the night trouble it brought Grendal at night did strike Killing thous from wicked and strife None but Beowulf saw the **** of the fight Guards did come, and saw a false sight Beowulf they thought the killer that night Sentenced to death but never to suffer that blight Beowulf escaped and rode at dawn, Off to seek golem and where he lurk Off to the woods there they found Grendal With much haste golem charged Beowulf dirk was drawn Hacking off the fingers of golem was hurt Grendal roared and ran Holding tightly to his wounded hand Beowulf returned with trophy in bag gasps where made across the land Guards double watch patrolling village to make a stand Night came and blood was shed Grendal made way to the mead hall all the way warriors bled Beowulf was ready and calmly said I have his fingers how about his arm instead Attacking the creatures buckled arm ripping it off golem then ran and fled Beowulf grabbed arms and said fingers now arm soon his head They reassembled on horses arms ready and raged Gave chase All fell but Beowulf by accord golem laid dead he lead deeper around bend mother by him seducing Beowulf of power and ***** by all that was said Beowulf accepted the fouls bargain But all was not well in thee end Dragon flew to the sky warriors of King Beowulf Fend Beowulf killed his son of the dervish deal the dragon But deadly wounds of were not on dragon alone Beowulf had fallen both a killing blow send Beowulf funeral ceremony of fire and water below the deep the foul was spotted to be burned alive with Beowulf lover in arms Blasphemy and Treacherous woes for all of she slaughtered Now known Beowulf deed leading men like fodder Against them knowing deal he had waged Too be written and sung in the latter days Beowulf the hero king the liar the cheat they called Beowulf the man flawed as all that ultimately brought his downfall
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Nov 20, 2020
Nov 20, 2020 at 6:56 PM UTC
Beowulf tales of man
Beowulf the hier of nothing of rot Mother  he know not Raised in shame banished wroght Returned to his village to seek wrothgar a father he yet sought News of death the sorrow he fought Till the night trouble it brought Grendal at night did strike Killing thous from wicked and strife None but Beowulf saw the **** of the fight Guards did come, and saw a false sight Beowulf they thought the killer that night Sentenced to death but never to suffer that blight Beowulf escaped and rode at dawn, Off to seek golem and where he lurk Off to the woods there they found Grendal With much haste golem charged Beowulf dirk was drawn Hacking off the fingers of golem was hurt Grendal roared and ran Holding tightly to his wounded hand Beowulf returned with trophy in bag gasps where made across the land Guards double watch patrolling village to make a stand Night came and blood was shed Grendal made way to the mead hall all the way warriors bled Beowulf was ready and calmly said I have his fingers how about his arm instead Attacking the creatures buckled arm ripping it off golem then ran and fled Beowulf grabbed arms and said fingers now arm soon his head They reassembled on horses arms ready and raged Gave chase All fell but Beowulf by accord golem laid dead he lead deeper around bend mother by him seducing Beowulf of power and ***** by all that was said Beowulf accepted the fouls bargain But all was not well in thee end Dragon flew to the sky warriors of King Beowulf Fend Beowulf killed his son of the dervish deal the dragon But deadly wounds of were not on dragon alone Beowulf had fallen both a killing blow send Beowulf funeral ceremony of fire and water below the deep the foul was spotted to be burned alive with Beowulf lover in arms Blasphemy and Treacherous woes for all of she slaughtered Now known Beowulf deed leading men like fodder Against them knowing deal he had waged Too be written and sung in the latter days Beowulf the hero king the liar the cheat they called Beowulf the man flawed as all that ultimately brought his downfall
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42
Oh, I should like to ride the seas, A roaring buccaneer; A cutlass banging at my knees, A dirk behind my ear. And when my captives' chains would clank I'd howl with glee and drink, And then fling out the quivering plank And watch the beggars sink. I'd like to straddle gory decks, And dig in laden sands, And know the feel of throbbing necks Between my knotted hands. Oh, I should like to strut and curse Among my blackguard crew... But I am writing little verse, As little ladies do. Oh, I should like to dance and laugh And pose and preen and sway, And rip the hearts of men in half, And toss the bits away. I'd like to view the reeling years Through unastonished eyes, And dip my finger-tips in tears, And give my smiles for sighs. I'd stroll beyond the ancient bounds, And tap at fastened gates, And hear the prettiest of sound- The clink of shattered fates. My slaves I'd like to bind with thongs That cut and burn and chill... But I am writing little songs, As little ladies will.
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2.9k
Song of Perfect Propriety
O Liberty, God-gifted-- Young and immortal maid-- In your high hand uplifted, The torch declares your trade. Its crimson menace, flaming Upon the sea and shore, Is, trumpet-like, proclaiming That Law shall be no more. Austere incendiary, We're blinking in the light; Where is your customary Grenade of dynamite? Where are your staves and switches For men of gentle birth? Your mask and dirk for riches? Your chains for wit and worth? Perhaps, you've brought the halters You used in the old days, When round religion's altars You stabled Cromwell's bays? Behind you, unsuspected, Have you the axe, fair ***** Wherewith you once collected A poll-tax for the French? America salutes you-- Preparing to "disgorge." Take everything that suits you, And marry Henry George.
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2.4k
To the Bartholdi Statue
379 Rehearsal to Ourselves Of a Withdrawn Delight— Affords a Bliss like ****** Omnipotent—Acute— We will not drop the Dirk— Because We love the Wound The Dirk Commemorate—Itself Remind Us that we died.
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2.4k
Rehearsal to Ourselves
When I share two or three days of the week to compose poetry I find myself on the exam session when severe merciless teachers ask us to write about “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard!” Elegies mostly are unprepared and never find time to turn to the appropriate types! They ask me on and on...and I ask them in the consulting area that how can we turn my blossomy song to elegies unwritten about the parish of those people, long time ago had been lost exactly on the exam time? How could you expect me to turn my naïve feeling to one of the catastrophic ones? > < > time is over time is up time is running time flies > < > Teachers shout, “ HURRY UP” when will they shut up?   I usually haunt by the bundle of words and circled with tumults of ideas as shining and variable as stars that like the savage river rush out to make me drowned. Very rarely I could find a way to breathe out. Elegies swirling randomly again and again to pose the question about whom shall we very soon defined, Mum?   >...O darlings...< …motionless corpse, wandering ghost, dead people around, >.. not stars..< >...O… no..<   Is there anybody nowadays to think about the “Country Churchyard” and elegies very appropriate to them at all, what a destiny! what a force! while a long time ago they were bestowed to the grand history of all mankind. O…no… Poor elegies remain unborn and sad in my thought…not forever… they laugh…and laugh…I can hear them, time is over and I’m a failure. < < < The blank sheet is going to be filled by songs wearing the long red robe of emotional loves or lust…they are tired of black mourning cloth of demise! they laugh and laugh and laugh since > < I 'm a murderer…tapping with dirk ….or strangling with a heavy rope of my heart….bloodshed everywhere: drops from my fingers to the height.  shout, scream and cry, they were innocent,  don' t want to die.  I can hear them. > < They are killed not to stay further in a cemetery of churchyard but to be born with a new style, either failure or corrupt…
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Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 6:42 AM UTC
Elegy Written in Mourning of the Young Songs!
When I share two or three days of the week to compose poetry I find myself on the exam session when severe merciless teachers ask us to write about “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard!” Elegies mostly are unprepared and never find time to turn to the appropriate types! They ask me on and on...and I ask them in the consulting area that how can we turn my blossomy song to elegies unwritten about the parish of those people, long time ago had been lost exactly on the exam time? How could you expect me to turn my naïve feeling to one of the catastrophic ones? > < > time is over time is up time is running time flies > < > Teachers shout, “ HURRY UP” when will they shut up?   I usually haunt by the bundle of words and circled with tumults of ideas as shining and variable as stars that like the savage river rush out to make me drowned. Very rarely I could find a way to breathe out. Elegies swirling randomly again and again to pose the question about whom shall we very soon defined, Mum?   >...O darlings...< …motionless corpse, wandering ghost, dead people around, >.. not stars..< >...O… no..<   Is there anybody nowadays to think about the “Country Churchyard” and elegies very appropriate to them at all, what a destiny! what a force! while a long time ago they were bestowed to the grand history of all mankind. O…no… Poor elegies remain unborn and sad in my thought…not forever… they laugh…and laugh…I can hear them, time is over and I’m a failure. < < < The blank sheet is going to be filled by songs wearing the long red robe of emotional loves or lust…they are tired of black mourning cloth of demise! they laugh and laugh and laugh since > < I 'm a murderer…tapping with dirk ….or strangling with a heavy rope of my heart….bloodshed everywhere: drops from my fingers to the height.  shout, scream and cry, they were innocent,  don' t want to die.  I can hear them. > < They are killed not to stay further in a cemetery of churchyard but to be born with a new style, either failure or corrupt…
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40
What hollow, caustic foulness lies behind the neatly edged hedges, fences, plastic window frames and glass? Resting, waiting to be woken, scream what now must not be spoken Blood-lust of a gutless middle class What simple lies must needs be told in bold authoritative tones To activate the drones and make them fight - To know, that if the call should come they'd march to that benighted drum And sacrifice intelligence for right? How big a monster must be built to shoulder guilt for every creeping fear and insecurity and loss, Till every hip and critical disclaimant finds a reason for believing and then carries it, across. How many layers must be stripped to tip the wretched shreds of indecision into morals blown apart And harmless bigot who, at work, was tolerated with a smirk Now drives a dirk into a stranger's heart? Now doctor, teacher, business leader, well-respected educated man proclaims his harmlessness anew, Make no mistake: the quills are fine and ready as the porcupine prepares to show what harmless beasts can do.
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Dec 2, 2010
Dec 2, 2010 at 9:46 AM UTC
Porcupine
To the boy in my German class who critizised me for picking a male name instead of a female one. I wonder how your head will **** When you see your best friend Joey Become Johanna I wonder how your jaw will drop When you see your son Beg to be bought a dress I wonder how your ears will suffer When your daughter Shows up at your home with her girlfriend I wonder if you will care You called me crazy My name is Dirk My name is Gender Roles If you are born a female I come with Flowers I come with Barbies and pink accessories I come with pink kitchen sets and doll hair brushes and fake makeup I come with pink I come with pink I come with pink I come with pink I come in fusha I come in burgandy I come in lilac I come in white For the added package I come with liposuction and days without food I come with too tight clothes and more labels than you can count I come with kitchen jokes I come with being judged if you had *** or Haven't But wait there's more If you are male I come with toy trucks And remote controls I come with not crying I come with blue ***** And Sunday football games And rough housing and be a man Be a man Be a man Be a man Be a man I come in Testosterone black I come in beaten up blue I come in Grades don't matter green I come in what're you looking at white For the added package I come with teasing Required gym time Peer preasure Don't cry I come with straightness And close minded friends I come with video games I come with make the money Pay for dinner Pay for movies Pay for living Pay for squirming I come with physical torture Critizised For having *** or Not having *** My name is Gender roles and I come in a school room My name is Izzie and I'm alive My name is Christy and I'm crying My name is Dirk and I am satisfied My name is Gender roles
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Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 7:52 PM UTC
My Name is Gender Roles
To the boy in my German class who critizised me for picking a male name instead of a female one. I wonder how your head will **** When you see your best friend Joey Become Johanna I wonder how your jaw will drop When you see your son Beg to be bought a dress I wonder how your ears will suffer When your daughter Shows up at your home with her girlfriend I wonder if you will care You called me crazy My name is Dirk My name is Gender Roles If you are born a female I come with Flowers I come with Barbies and pink accessories I come with pink kitchen sets and doll hair brushes and fake makeup I come with pink I come with pink I come with pink I come with pink I come in fusha I come in burgandy I come in lilac I come in white For the added package I come with liposuction and days without food I come with too tight clothes and more labels than you can count I come with kitchen jokes I come with being judged if you had *** or Haven't But wait there's more If you are male I come with toy trucks And remote controls I come with not crying I come with blue ***** And Sunday football games And rough housing and be a man Be a man Be a man Be a man Be a man I come in Testosterone black I come in beaten up blue I come in Grades don't matter green I come in what're you looking at white For the added package I come with teasing Required gym time Peer preasure Don't cry I come with straightness And close minded friends I come with video games I come with make the money Pay for dinner Pay for movies Pay for living Pay for squirming I come with physical torture Critizised For having *** or Not having *** My name is Gender roles and I come in a school room My name is Izzie and I'm alive My name is Christy and I'm crying My name is Dirk and I am satisfied My name is Gender roles
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78
. War. Famine. Pestilence. Death. Enjoy a game of poker. It relieves the boredom. They only have one Big project booked into the work diary. The horses are stabled, so why not have down time? The day-to-day business takes care of itself. Ably supervised by the humans in a race to the Big day. The stillness is penetrated by sound. Death cleaning his teeth with his reaping scythe or Death sharpening his reaping scythe on his teeth. Either way, it shattered vertebrae. His nerves were getting twitchy. Three Kings, the Jack and Queen of Clubs. Royals were dropping like flies. It was going to be a busy night. He met Wars eyes and her bet, **** She looks beautiful sweating), paid an advance and called. Uncharacteristically delicate, he lay down his souls. Jack and Queen of Clubs. Kings of Diamonds, Spades and Hearts. War smiled sweetly. Her dirk-like eyelashes fluttering an assassins dance. Letting her cards fall soft, triumphant with winners ecstasy, she declares her hand... … “SNAP!” she says. © Pagan Paul (14/03/17)
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Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 6:18 PM UTC
Soul Mates
Oh my sweet beloved do not shirk Do not play with me do not irk Do not use your beauty as a dirk Take care and do not be a berk Do not take my real love so light You still have to see my real might I love you for all day and all night We can achieve real sublime height  Have faith in me and let us glow Love is ready to accompany and go With sincerity love will have to grow  In my veins your beauty is to flow For your sake I can really sacrifice For you sake I will pay all the price Extend your hand and don't be bias For our sake this will surely suffice I promise I will always take you along Rest assure I will sing your love song With your beauty love will be strong Surely to each other we relate, belong  Col Muhammad Khalid Khan Copyright 2015 Golden Glow
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Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 1:27 AM UTC
We Belong
The stylus is more potent than the dirk they say You don't fail to make a mark even when picked up by a dilettante everyday Esoteric idioms your masters make you write While the poignant sentences you write come only late in the night Someday you are in the hands of the who's who of the town The other days you spend in the hands of a clown You come clad in plastic,platinum,silver and gold With different coloured lifelines-blue,black,red,green and pink And a plethora of stories you keep clandestine and untold A travesty you make of the fools and to the prudent you make think With every word you write, you pant for breath And when your heart stops beating, they mark it as your death(end of a refill) You can be cryptic, there's no one stopping You can be acerbic even with beauty on the outside(the beauty of the letters) From the Treaty of Versailles to the varied pompous constitutions penned, you've always left me shocking Blessed be the hands that cradle you and take the ride(ride of the writing) You take them through the best roller-coaster journey of words Bringing out the inexplicable happiness be it just the lyre of the birds A predilection i have for you, for you engender the best in me I know I'd always have you in the middle of a dark chilled night come what may be Its you whom i turn to with my querulous platitudes And you furnish me the answers with a benevolent smile and gratitude Its you who defines me, for i am nothing but an amorphous mould Still learning when to be bold and when to feel cold.
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Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 2:00 PM UTC
Ode to A Pen
The stylus is more potent than the dirk they say You don't fail to make a mark even when picked up by a dilettante everyday Esoteric idioms your masters make you write While the poignant sentences you write come only late in the night Someday you are in the hands of the who's who of the town The other days you spend in the hands of a clown You come clad in plastic,platinum,silver and gold With different coloured lifelines-blue,black,red,green and pink And a plethora of stories you keep clandestine and untold A travesty you make of the fools and to the prudent you make think With every word you write, you pant for breath And when your heart stops beating, they mark it as your death(end of a refill) You can be cryptic, there's no one stopping You can be acerbic even with beauty on the outside(the beauty of the letters) From the Treaty of Versailles to the varied pompous constitutions penned, you've always left me shocking Blessed be the hands that cradle you and take the ride(ride of the writing) You take them through the best roller-coaster journey of words Bringing out the inexplicable happiness be it just the lyre of the birds A predilection i have for you, for you engender the best in me I know I'd always have you in the middle of a dark chilled night come what may be Its you whom i turn to with my querulous platitudes And you furnish me the answers with a benevolent smile and gratitude Its you who defines me, for i am nothing but an amorphous mould Still learning when to be bold and when to feel cold.
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24
Bottle of Tums on the end-table surrounded by an imprisoned fan; a lava lamp of antacids, cornered by dead precious-metal presidents. Some greying ceramic **** matriarch has a bulb sprouting out of her head, radiating fat yellow on the olive corner, also onto the loveseat. I say, I should read. I say, People don't like   one another, anymore. She says, I want to be a doctor. Work with animals, she said, Help pets and people. Days go by like the shush following blurs of traffic. Am I aging too soon; Am I important enough   to care. Try to sell me some Pyramid Scheme **** the man my age does-- the kid-- He wants sixty-five for off-brand perfume. No way. How about, he looks around, the manager's discount: twenty. I say no. I'm sorry. I can't help you. He says no. He's sorry. He can't help himself. An American filmography: A Thief in Brooklyn, 1997, Dirk Diggler Productions, A 20 y/o man breaks into apartments, stealing pills from the elder renters. Ghost Before Sundown, 2003, Marythrone Image, A woman suspects she is a ghost and tries to come to terms with never succeeding in life.
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Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 8:27 PM UTC
Drugs and Success
O, Falmouth is a fine town with ships in the bay, And I wish from my heart it's there I was to-day; I wish from my heart I was far away from here, Sitting in my parlour and talking to my dear. For it's home, dearie, home--it's home I want to be. Our topsails are hoisted, and we'll away to sea. O, the oak and the ash and the bonnie birken tree They're all growing green in the old countrie. In Baltimore a-walking a lady I did meet With her babe on her arm, as she came down the street; And I thought how I sailed, and the cradle standing ready For the pretty little babe that has never seen its daddie. And it's home, dearie, home . . . O, if it be a lass, she shall wear a golden ring; And if it be a lad, he shall fight for his king: With his dirk and his hat and his little jacket blue He shall walk the quarter-deck as his daddie used to do. And it's home, dearie, home . . . O, there's a wind a-blowing, a-blowing from the west, And that of all the winds is the one I like the best, For it blows at our backs, and it shakes our pennon free, And it soon will blow us home to the old countrie. For it's home, dearie, home--it's home I want to be. Our topsails are hoisted, and we'll away to sea. O, the oak and the ash and the bonnie birken tree They're all growing green in the old countrie.
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952
To D. H.
It was all silk and sawdust Mamas skirts rustled a sunday mass and dad wore his bowler hat tilted at an angle (dirk bogarde -like look) But he was a farmer. soon after the service was over he'd hang his hat by the cowsheds and wallow in green slushy poo irrespective of how much it stank and how natural he looked throwing sawdust over the caked green pancakes and shovelling all that crap into a corner, with sundays best clothes on! Mama insisted he change first but no. "The cows need attention as much as god does, Mama" We did not argue with his farmyard philosophy but that's where we cut our teeth and tasted a mans love for his animals both human and beast and that's where we understood that sunhats, bowlers and polished walking sticks were just statements that didn't come from a book- but society. Somehow he mixed the two learnings to get along with everything. I missed him when he milked his last cow and lay down forever in that quiet evening as the sun set in an orange sky. The brightest star that night climbed over the eastern ridges to grace the night. Dad? © Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
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Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC
Silk and Sawdust
In fair Verona where Will set the scene Belle Fortune moves the markers up and down. Two households both alike in dignity Fiercely compete for fear of losing ground. When Juliet saw Romeo at the dance Events were set in motion that, perchance, Would see fair Juliet as our Romeo’s bride but ultimately result in her suicide. With Tybalt and Mercutio both dead, And Capulet and Montague estranged. Young Paris sought fair Juliet to wed not knowing of her loss of maiden-head. Romeo was banished for his crime, a sin for which a peasant would have died Their two households, joined because they wed, remained divided by their foolish pride. Summer’s fierce heat shimmered in the air, oppressive in the absence of a breeze. With Friar Lawrence’s help, Romeo’s girl played dead, as if struck down by some unknown disease Romeo , in Mantua, heard that his Juliet Lay dead amongst the sleeping Capulets. A draught of deadly poison he obtained So they might sleep together once again. When Romeo met Paris at her tomb, Words led to swordplay, leaving Paris dead. Would not the world have been a better place if Romeo had kept it sheathed instead? Unshriven, Romeo drank the poison down- the only son of Montague now dead. Perchance just then fair Juliet revives Bereaved, she took his Dirk to bed instead. Authorities, arriving at the scene, could only mourn a brace of kinsmen lost. Capulet and Montague were reconciled Their amity bought at a fearful cost.
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Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 8:18 AM UTC
Star Crossed
I might look like ive got a dagger and a dirk on in each hand ready to stab deep, to hurt might look like ive got fangs that drip venom but venom's not in em It's a vicious cocktail of hurt and hope might look like to my temple or to yours ive got a glock but i dont and that tick tocking sound is not a gun cocking it's a clock winding down in my memories because i'm stuck remembering and reliving them so i hope it's relieving to know it might look like i wish you dead before i go to sleep but what i wish is you were next to me
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Mar 15, 2012
Mar 15, 2012 at 1:49 AM UTC
It might look like...
Yo Too many worrin about words Too many worrin bout language Too many muthafukkas spoutin off over who said what Well let me tell ya Im bigga Set this off like a trigga Go figga Set a trap like a rigga Then pick her Up at the spot for a gigga Ice cold beer, A 40 for this wigga Rollin fat Get in back Bounce like tigga Up and over place a bet like Doug VanHigga I made that up Bust a nut Fill this cup with a piggy pigga Round *** honeys Rachet with Dirk Ziggla
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Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 10:05 PM UTC
no "n" word...work in progress
I will learn to fly. I will create my wings with the dirk from the ground. I will create my feathers from the clouds above . I will create rain from my mystic wings . I will fly and leave everything behind . To the stars that will turn to suns . Land in the moon and create an eclipse. I will taste the Milky Way . I'll fly create star clusters that spell your name . For you I'll learn to fly beyond your sight
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May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
Learn to Fly
Scads that stalk and made summer with righteous clamor their soul searching voice now taciturn for prose when a nightshade glisten best in a round table of choice they frocked noble propose if a dirk and cloak were there while choir was equivocal rejoice with nonchalance wound smatter his chest whom did say he was right?
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May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 8:00 AM UTC
Baked Potatoes
She at the very last spoke to me-- Her soft speech was soothing as balm-- Whom I've desired much the first to be; Yet my soul was firm and calm. And peace like a river flowed In my heart like never before, And my love straightaway followed Hers like a sheep to the abattoir. She howbeit will not slaughter me. If she did it would be with her love. So let me die by the dirk of that dilly Rather than stay alive with a frigid dove.
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Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 2:34 AM UTC
Let Me . . .
How did I get this far? Distorted vision Collision for some sense Love that I didn’t remember when I slept Could’ve forgotten the tears that been wept Regret to be swept Socially inept when I ponder about my end man in the mirror who else can I depend on? wipe the thoughts from my mind to "be" a little clearer once upon a time rewind no lexicon to describe my love beyond the stars up above                          para ti out and about with no doubt in my steps out to test the handles to manifest                                    (ideasoutthefuckingdomeandIsaythatwithmychest) excuse the ego, it's probably best (sometimes I feel like I'm living like I'm holding on to the weakest set of limbs) when the chances are thin, nothing to limn reach within your inner vim sitting here before work 10:31 am I go in at 11 haven't gotten dressed yet drinking coffee listening to music about to get my **** in tonight I might get some ***** in but recently the tears make me feel like I'm losing..... but that's just.... overthinking what am I thinking? I need to get ready for dat werk werk racetrac clerk clerk putting in that fookin werk werk crazy **** **** dunk my nuts on your face like I'm dirk dirk okay I'm going to get ready                  now mu... ah
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Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 11:37 AM UTC
mornin' hues
I went to the library for epic lit, I found some Clive Cusslers to pick, No, "Dirk Pitt is a total ***** That is what this old bag thinks, So I came home with yet more chick lit..........
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Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 12:47 AM UTC
DIRK PITT.....
Upon a bracken hill I spied An army of a heathen ***** Come to bury my clan and pride Beneath this Scottish moor Let the wind and rain lash at their skin Like a thousand cat o nine For they cannot bury McCloud His father or his kind With dirk in hand I lay upon Heather and moss in bloom Breath shallow and eyes that glare Waiting for the pipes to play The brave Scottish tune No man shall take my land Or forsake my creed I am a Scotsman standing tall For all that I believe So do your best beast of hate Come dine at your ill ment fate And see how we here in gods land Extend our fighting hand.
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Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 11:20 AM UTC
Heart Of The Brave
Oh that bitter sweet mix of remorse and aspirations Bring happiness beyond my wildest imaginations, But thus I sink the dagger deeper into my chest For I can't be forgiven... unless Unless I welcome the dirk to use my carmine ink I invite, no demand That I carve myself By MY hand. So the world knows The monster that I am. But I cower behind my sleeves and laughter So THEY don't know the disaster Of what I fancy. What I'm after That I long for the blade. That I yearn for the pain. But they still talk of hope What an absolute joke That "every cloud has a silver lining." Tell that To my blood stained razor blades leave my wrists crying.
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Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 9:04 PM UTC
Pain