"tawdry" poems
And yet one arrives somehow,
finds himself loosening the hooks of
her dress
in a strange bedroom—
feels the autumn
dropping its silk and linen leaves
about her ankles.
The ****** veined body emerges
twisted upon itself
like a winter wind . . . !
7.5k
*break
astonishment at perception
of
a third-world child making it
up that totem-pole
amidst paltry conditions
even
beyond the half-way mark*
1.
a standing man
in silent message
and the woman in red
with thin-sling shoulder-bag
holding lipstick, weekly-ticket and purse
oh, how she frightens honchos out their skull
draped round her sister's head
shroud eternal
coughing
sore
2.
grannies recount lively griot-tales
where hope is never barren
young boys play in swamped dirt-trails
drawing absent father-figures in the sand
the wind has carried them off to mines
deep in the crust of earth's ire
adolescent future sits on labour-farms
where keen spirit is dulled with worthless hops
keeps the sly farmer happy
and he tells them the fruit is free
yet they've already paid for it
manifold
when she reaches twenty
she will have at least two kids
whose lives lie in the granny's luxury
while she runs off to the golden city-lites
to jump through higher hoops
for ****** spoils
all cheapened by long-term neglect
3.
there lies hope
unlost
in every girl-child
who goes to school
who finds encouragement
from words kindly given
if but from a stranger
*no hand-me-outs
no forlorn begging*
she...
the empowered mother of boys
will
help them to grow
into young men
of such sensibility
as to keep their hands
to deeds of honour
who, in turn
become fine fathers to daughters
they love and cherish
raise to be
luminary
*each step up
from that totem-pole
such a steep climb
strengthens invisible wings
and unworldly rewards
and when final rung is reached
heralds
untainted take-offffffff*......
S T, 27 aug
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 11:01 AM UTC
[From Fragments, The Following...]
... so it was that the Urth bled less. The Birch Moot was becalmed by the Anvil Cloud of Impending Deluge.
The Young Gods made sport of Their Names, and aimed to Oblique the colony of clever flesh
groping at the tender roots of an insipid devastation. The First Ones had vanished.
But Time was born and the Mortal Whirl released the Hounds of Change. Transition fused -
with the Eternal; and the offspring of unloved Spirits, roamed the Tangible. All Suffering was amplified
in the diamond lungs of a divine corpse, dreaming.
... for when the iron heart of The Cast Out was retrieved, the Legion of Heaven poured unseemly Grace upon the Fathoms
and the High King of Doubt, forced his blade ' Nimue '
into the soft palette, of the First Mouth. The Stars were born and The Void overheard the First Naming.
A solid drizzle of enchantment cloaked the oaken Yggdrasil
and The Pattern unleashed the folly of Pattern
to mask the virtue of succinct Chaos. The Children of The Lower Sky ate their Masters and thereby swollen -
gathered in the underbrush of the Fecund.
They came to Know Regret by Answering Prayers. The Kingdoms of Wane were waning in the fearsome riot of Creation
and not a boy, a man from no woman
and no woman
a man.
... the siege lights of the petty stars, babbled in the wake of yawning eruption and nullification. the ****** theater of blood
was made Holy by way of forcing camels into eyes of needles in constant dystopian joy.
... and that's how the rain gets in.
[ From the ' Kingdoms Of Wane ', a Lost Tome from Antiquity and Dada ]
What ?
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 7:07 PM UTC
#
A lively debate
that inside I create
A seemingly
simple state
But this state
of affairs
Is like a ****** affair*
The details
I wish not to share
Please,
don’t stare
For inside
I’m scared
Am I prepared?
Do I have
the ***** to do
what I really care?
Or am I going
to stay on this ship
of self-despair
Where
I can scream
my lungs ******
into the air
But does anyone care?
Do I even f@cking care??
Maybe a life spared
but ***spare me the
retched bullsh@t***
of self-pity
I’m self-giving
It wreaks up the air
It’s noxious scent
is not one I care
to ever encounter
or fair
Let’s “clear the air”
and take on
what I want
from now on
No longer a pawn
who is living the tired
joke
of some *pathetic
love song*
No, THIS
is my “Swan Song”
Where I belong
This sh@t is ON!
Climbing the mountain strong
Bellowing a chant
a song
That’s been so deep within
for so long
It can only come out
Right
Because “wrong”
does not belong
**This virus
is airborne**
No longer forlorn
All the darkness
is gone
You have been
forewarned
Are you ready?
Because it’s coming
Sounding the horn
Sacrificed
the firstborn
The “storm”
Once icy and cold
Now simmering warm
Going to bubble into
volcanic ash scorned
This Oath
hath been sworn
Tattered and torn
**** cloth
all that is worn
But forward my path
What’s behind me
**My ***
The past
*Worn out,
decayed,
and shriveling trash*
All that
is gone
as I head
towards the dawn
Through the darkness
I’ve trekked
The Sun rises ahead
And with it
My song
My Swan Song
I am reborn
withered and worn
But still strong
I belong
***I am one
with the Universe***
The path before me
is brightly lit
with happiness and joy
No more patheticness
All the grit
and the spit
Broken teeth
All that sh@t
It all meant something
It was THIS
*Every bruise
Every break
All the “wrongs”
and “mistakes”*
Are what it takes
You can call it fate
or simply short of fatal
but since
neonatal
through this day till
Every day
I thankfully say
“Thank you”
for showing me the way
Because now I have
A love that stays
A true love
One that can’t
get away
Because I value Me
One ‘hopes’ or ‘prays’
But like a house
Each brick is laid
Onto the next
Foundation made
A sturdy house
Can’t blow away
Hard work put in
Made it this way
The same for me
The price I paid
But end result
A saving grace
#
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 5:08 AM UTC
Are we all fake?
Are we all getting baked?
Are we all looking?
Are we all searching?
For a simple solution
To shake the focus from this illusion
Finally looking up to the sky
Stars shining and twinkling in your eyes
Or is it just the glare
Pining over your cell phone in despair
Comparing yourself to others
Moments that look like perfection
Also lead us in a misdirection
Down a path of self doubt
All because of some dude's clout
Putting the most in every post
To answer all the above questions
We be searching for the real
And be looking to get baked ;)
At least that's this ****** dude's opinion
Jul 10, 2022
Jul 10, 2022 at 1:02 PM UTC
A desolate shore,
The sinister seduction of the Moon,
The menace of the irreclaimable Sea.
Flaunting, ****** and grim,
From cloud to cloud along her beat,
Leering her battered and inveterate leer,
She signals where he prowls in the dark alone,
Her horrible old man,
Mumbling old oaths and warming
His villainous old bones with villainous talk--
The secrets of their grisly housekeeping
Since they went out upon the pad
In the first twilight of self-conscious Time:
Growling, hideous and hoarse,
Tales of unnumbered Ships,
Goodly and strong, Companions of the Advance,
In some vile alley of the night
Waylaid and bludgeoned--
Dead.
Deep cellared in primeval ooze,
Ruined, dishonoured, spoiled,
They lie where the lean water-worm
Crawls free of their secrets, and their broken sides
Bulge with the slime of life. Thus they abide,
Thus fouled and desecrate,
The summons of the Trumpet, and the while
These Twain, their murderers,
Unravined, imperturbable, unsubdued,
Hang at the heels of their children--She aloft
As in the shining streets,
He as in ambush at some accomplice door.
The stalwart Ships,
The beautiful and bold adventurers!
Stationed out yonder in the isle,
The tall Policeman,
Flashing his bull's-eye, as he peers
About him in the ancient vacancy,
Tells them this way is safety--this way home.
4.2k
.
***there once was a girl from France
who danced on stage with no pants
she showed off her ****
but never her bush
and she left the crowd in a trance***
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 11:26 AM UTC
~
***TRAVEL TIME TROPICS TRIP TOURIST TOWN TUNNEL TOLL TICKET TAKER
TAXI TOKEN TRANSIT TRAIL TRANSPORT TRUCK TRACTOR TRAILER
TRAIN TRACK TROUBLE TEST TERROR TRAP TRIBAL TURF
THINK TALK TRY TRANSLATE TONGUE TIED
TEMPER TAMPER TIMEBOMB TICKING TRINKET TRADE
TARIFF TERMS TWINKLE TAX TREASURE TOTAL THEFT TAKEN
TWISTING THROBING THIRSTY THROAT TECATE TAVERN TWO TEQUILA
TRES TACOS TASTY TORTILLAS TEN TEQUILA TABLE TAB TIP TINA
TAWDRY TROLLUP TATTOO TABOO TOE TAP TICKLE TEASE
TERRIBLE TUNES TENOR TONES TRUMPETING TROUBADOURS
TWENTY TEENS TICK TOCK TARDY TIME TIRESOME TESTIMONY
TOTALLY TRANSGRESSED
TUMULTUOUS TRAVELER***
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 5:25 PM UTC
It was Tucson in the endless dog
days of an endless summer.
The heat was inescapable,
pooling in the window frames
and the air as it coughed from the vents:
A fever that would never break.
Two weeks we lay there, knee deep in the throws
of a heat that would never subdue, a summer
that would never end. You would knock on my door,
laying there on the bed, staring holes into the
dripped and melting ceiling.
You held a paper bag of cheap wine between
your ****** and tarnished fingers,
clinking against the rings you wore like
trophies. I don’t know where I found you,
golden brown and beautiful out amongst
an vast eternity of ugliness.
We took mescaline we had gotten from
your cousin living back out on the reservation.
Laying there passing back the wine
you told me how the desert was alive,
how it had been swallowing you your whole life.
You told me that the dryness and the heat
had consumed you, burnt you through until
you couldn’t bear to be yourself anymore.
The scorching heat overcame you and you told me
there had been no choice but to become the desert.
I had only been in the southwest two months,
but I saw it, although I was untouched.
You had grown here, you said,
wilting to ash together with the desert.
The mescaline had me by the throat and
I saw you from dust to dust.
I saw you at one with the desert.
You were beautiful amongst the
red and ochre blood of the sand
and at once I wanted to melt to ash
and burn into the desert alongside you.
I told you and you laughed and I laughed
and we made love to the heat
and to the sweat driven
out from underneath our pores,
inflamed by the drugs and
the inescapable heat.
The room was aflame and
the great desert was alive
and ripping at us
through the open window
with claws of heat that
slashed at our backs.
I awoke and you were tying your shoes.
Just like that, the fever had broken,
and already you could feel
autumn coming in with its swathes
of chilled air sweeping across the plains.
I had been in love those two weeks.
With the sun and the dust and the ash
and the desert and all of it being one
with you. As it all collapsed around me
I felt saddened at its loss.
You were out the door
and the summer was over.
I moved back east where the
winter came faster and colder
and the desert was
of a different kind.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 4:36 AM UTC
A Barry Hodges poem by Edna
I remember a girlfriend called Mary
Whose ***** was exceedingly hairy;
She came from Newcastle;
And the stench of her ********
Converted me into a fairy.
Thus I rejected your Glorias and Glendas
In frilly white bras and suspenders;
And sought sweet catharsis
From the nice juicy arses
Of poofters and other gay benders.
Redemption came to me from Millie:
A big girl, a well-padded filly;
She was just a Geordie
And really quite ******
But her **** smelled as sweet as a lily.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 12:43 PM UTC
...
Dear Mr. P - [stop] -
...
I was your knife in the water, a credit card kept exclusively for killing - [stop] -
I was a gingersnap on your sugar train, a flower-filled glory box to swallow your whole wide world - [stop] -
I was night, night of the electric insects, praying mantis and ladybug — nervous animals, lotus eaters, enjoying a ceremonial after meal
- [stop] -
I was slivers of pseudoscience poisoned by man-made seasons — a new and beautiful and interesting disease - [stop] -
You and me, we are now the same — snapshots in sheared time, before the closedown of our impossibly ****** impulses - [stop] -
...
Best wishes, V
···
Feb 16, 2022
Feb 16, 2022 at 12:20 PM UTC
Here
Is a timely
Noun to consider
From the Merriam-Webster page.
"Trumpery."
Note (at bottom) the list of near-antonyms;
what is the opposite of trumpery?
[Popularity: Bottom 40% of words]
trumpery
noun trum·pery \ˈtrəm-p(ə-)rē\
Definition of trumpery
1
a : worthless nonsense b : trivial or useless articles : junk <a wagon loaded with household trumpery — Washington Irving>
2
archaic : ****** finery
Origin of trumpery
Middle English (Scots) trompery deceit, from Middle French, from tromper to deceive
First Known Use: 15th century
Examples of trumpery
<claims for weight-loss products that are based much more on Madison-Avenue trumpery than on bariatric science>
Related to trumpery
Synonyms
applesauce [slang], balderdash, baloney (also boloney), beans, bilge, blah (also blah-blah), blarney, blather, blatherskite, blither, bosh, bull [slang], bunk, bunkum (or ******** claptrap, codswallop [British], crapola [slang], crock, drivel, drool, fiddle, fiddle-faddle, fiddlesticks, flannel [British], flapdoodle, folderol (also falderal), folly, foolishness, fudge, garbage, guff, hogwash, hokeypokey, hokum, hoodoo, hooey, horsefeathers [slang], humbug, humbuggery, jazz, malarkey (also malarky), moonshine, muck, nerts [slang], nuts, piffle, poppycock, punk, rot, ******* senselessness, silliness, slush, stupidity, taradiddle (or tarradiddle), tommyrot, tosh, trash, nonsense, twaddle
Related Words
absurdity, asininity, fatuity, foolery, idiocy, imbecility, inaneness, inanity, insanity, kookiness, lunacy; absurdness, craziness, madness, senselessness, witlessness; hoity-toity, monkey business, monkeyshine(s), shenanigan(s), tomfoolery; gas, hot air, rigmarole (also rigamarole); double-talk, greek, hocus-pocus
Near Antonyms
levelheadedness, rationality, reasonability, reasonableness, sensibleness; common sense, horse sense, sense; discernment, judgment (or judgement), wisdom
By: Robinson Bolkum
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 6:44 PM UTC
Words, once obedient servants
Now claim suzerainty over ideas.
The age of meaningful verse has yielded
To gobbledygook.
Poetry, a grey mist half-understood
Through which I stumble blindly,
A mirage I chase through the sands...
The wells of creativity run dry.
Neither outpourings of emotion nor tender murmurs;
Mere craftsmanship remains.
Lines dolled up in ****** baubles
Literary ****** soliciting passing readers,
Fireflies, impotent
In the face of the darkness within.
The autumn harvest of verbosity is ripe
For the scythe of the Grim Reaper
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 1:02 PM UTC
Starlight …
Icy crystalline sparkles
beaming brilliance
‘gainst the moonlit winter sky
Stars bright.
Luminescent wonders.
Scintilla laid bare in the heavens
by the pale white light of the moon
Full moon
bathing dingy cityscapes,
their dim lit ****** tales told
‘neath streetlamps’ jaundiced glow.
We walk,
slip on ice, crunch through snow,
watching for sliding cars
and dangers lurking in shadows.
Moonlit
whitewashed winter wind
winds through desolate streets
on a pale cold night in the city.
Walk on.
Whistling winds, barking dogs,
chill us, spur our pace, on
through the moonlight and cold.
Our wish
upon this night’s heavenly stars
is to be safely home, watching
from icy windows … winter walkers.
Doug Curry
1/6/10
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 11:50 AM UTC
Vile photos and sounds play on 'palace' walls;
mud in her fingernails form shapes of the night's sticky, grubby events-
a twisted, ****** Rorscharch-esque blot.
Knee-deep in grit and grime, soot on her feet,
she sludges on, puking night after night on assorted side-walks
with soaked, soily calves.
'Just pretty pictures' painted on a wall
show her a true reflection of her mind;
she seeks familiarity, hides/searches in them for herself.
In distorted jumbles, she looks for her kind.
The splayed stuff stutter and splutter
and stop and grind.
Insomnia and intoxication,
a victim of lack of inspiration-
life falls into a slow degradation.
Nothingness swallows all once more.
She thrusts against the shoddy shut doors
while the slimy sticky dross glues her shoes to gory floors.
-she trails off with a wince
at the hat man's scoff.
Foul filth fills the squalid air; and
sullied and smoky, sighing, she (s)tumbles
halfway to sleep.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC
**I
Found
The
Belladonna
In Nana’s bedside drawer
I slipped some in my pocket
To even up a score
Later
He came knocking
With that smirk upon his face
Yet another ****** night of being
Defiled
and
Debased**
*My
Lovely
I
Call
My wicked
Ways are always here
Taking you for granted
Having my way
Because
There is
Nothing
You
Can do*
**I set the scene
In such
An
Alluring
Seductive
Way**
Fool
**Thought I was finally coming out to play
Incense swayed
Candles burned
He drank the drink
Then
Tables turned
Vermillion visions slice through the stagnant air
Cleansing me of
Ignorance
Naivety
Despair**
*She doesn't know
That bottle of wine
That
We
Drink
That her
Glass
Holds
A Cyanide pill
So
This smile
She thinks
Is
For
seduction
Hides
The plans
In
My
Head*
**Something’s not quite right
I have a
Strange sensation
Why am I experiencing
Hell
Fire
&
Damnation
Evil starts to slither on my heated skin
Maybe he just slipped me a ***** Mickey Finn?
Feeling now bedeviled
I take another sip of wine
Bachus sits there laughing
Regal and divine**
*Where did this migraine come from?
But I am here laughing
As she drinks her fall
**** I feel sleepy
Could she have?
No!
She wouldn't be that shrewd
Women can't out think a man
So she smiles with me
Rubbing her eyes
I ask her to dance
It will be her last dance*
**I sense strong arms caress me
Music fills the air
Fluidity of movement
Lays my soul stark bare
I beseech the cold dark eyes of this man that I abhor
As
We
Slowly
Slowly
Slowly
.
.
.
Concertina to the floor**
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 6:25 AM UTC
She was my non sequitur;
Like that hottie
From the south of Ecuador,
So nice yet so ******
But this one was my interrobang
Questionable excitement,
To her laughter my ears lent
Cautious echoes that sang,
Of the skies sunny and blue
Where the beaches were
Anything but mild
And the babes
They were so wild,
Yet the endless raves
Seemed so few.
As she was my turbulence
Distraction under calm seas,
****** cadence
With a purr
Like a swarm of bees,
No other will equate to her,
Why I met her; and never will again
I'll never know for sure, but then
Aren't those the ones we yearn the most for‽
APAD13 012 - © okpoet
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 10:18 PM UTC
So many words between us—
The caustic breech of abatement, ruin
Runs atonal, in recitals of indifference,
How even the ****** birds now sound
Discordant and rain crushes as it falls,
Ballistic.
The pinprick stars are merely eyes
Undraped to the worn soul's veil
And gorgon time roils setting our feet
In the crust of wishes and delusions
Kept.
The bullet riddled skies in absence
Of colour are but particulates of lime
To the moonless night. Words have no
Eyes, they can only finger.
O the sorrows of the untouched—
The cruelty of the sightless and bent blind,
Drab vermillion stars felled like forced tears.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 10:57 AM UTC
there are words in me always there blood is at my lips
****** burning
to release
the distillation of their sting
into such sweet pollen
a whole garden might
from them stagger
into finite blithe
smoothly muslined
night
crocus poppy thistle
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 4:19 PM UTC
.
Scurrilous birds fly by,
To nest in the little painted
Houses left clear for them,
In awkward circles they romp
Their peculiar dramas
With ****** wings.
Do they even witness
The skies revolving canvas,
New masterpieces each day,
How the light shimmers
In the sparkle rays of sun,
How the golden fields,
Of vales in sighted sweep
And dance, airy etudes,
By the windfall gusts
So suddenly arising?
These visions are marks
For but few, who hear time
As it plays in stepped quartets
Of the spiraling seasons song,
For the lone mercies, gifts,
To ones most gentle, merest,
Spirited eyes who gaze deftly,
Deep in sacred days,
From a window.
.
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 7:36 PM UTC
.
So many ****** birds,
Grey, brown and black,
Suited as they sully in sun,
In feather and windy-speak
And dream, drifting to profit
Points, marring the globe,
They have so many ways
Of singing on their swings
Behind bars, murky birdies,
Gawking in the crowded fields,
Fielding, flighty questions without
Answer, winging all souls to oblivion,
Who fly, flustering, dusting with song
Twisting the air into pure falsehoods,
Curious, grounded pets for kingdoms,
For masters, fly-hoping in their cages.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 4:27 PM UTC
A ****** girls stands on the corner.
She's to young to be this aged.
Flirty winks and forced smiles
draw the suited men in.
Heavy makeup, short skirt
Drugs to forget her misdeeds
Reminds herself not to flinch,
their ***** hands ghost across her skin.
She throws away her morals
to please a corrupt man.
For the price of disobedience
Is her fleeting life.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 3:01 PM UTC
Liquid
lavender eyes
behind a slight disguise
I feel the pulse with quickened gait
spell bound I stare into a certain fate
spirit image and magic call
into those eyes I do fall
lavender eyes
Liquid
Big brown
beautiful eyes
bewitching brazen eyes
I glance then gaze they hypnotize
her tawny ****** ***** bedroom eyes
they tantalize they mesmerize
sultry sweet smiling eyes
beautiful eyes
Big brown
Pretty
baby blue eyes
open wide to see inside
pulsing like ocean’s crystal tides
bottomless pools like Caribbean cove
hypnotized I fall deep in love
swimming in her soulful
baby blue eyes
Pretty
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 10:17 AM UTC
The second amendment might
As well be the sixty-ninth, for all
The life-long days it saves by
The transparent and glossy shields
Adorning blue-skied uniforms.
The strike zone is limited to the
Mobility-enhanced limbs, out of
Reach of the cardiac plateau, in
A line guarded by “I heart NYC”
Leftover campaign buttons.
Crowds question the timeless yet
Disintegrating rhetoric, and they
Sing along with misspelled threats
To sanguine attempts at love and
War, while grade schoolers watch.
What’s missing from this libretto
Is a slogan like “if they go low, we
Go high” and the money to borrow
It, or the right to use the copyright,
As long as it doesn’t get ******
“Now hear this,” bellows the man in
The crow’s nest, stepping in front
Of his stepson who brandishes a
BB gun proudly in his arms, “the
Curfew starts at midnight!”
Dona nobis pacem, a canon of
Faith, is hummed by the last ranks
Of veterans in camouflage, hoping
To initiate a temporary calm among
The bleak and ****** crew.
A clown-faced poet attempts to draw
A smile, as she calls for an absentee
Ballot, a circuitous frontage road
Away from destiny, some think,
And a short breath of recess.
“Take away their weapons,” hollers
A very pregnant woman, who goes
Into labor, blaming the guns for her
Untimely reward, and for a moment,
Just minutes, the midwifery begins.
All this while a small coterie of men
Gathers, silently taking in the show,
Unnoticed in their pretense, but
Sporting the heritage caps of the
NRA, stars and stripes in their lapels.
The disingenuous players in this sad
Drama are about to fold their tents,
To chicken out, to return to tacos
And beer, when stillness breaks,
So much so that crickets rule.
A small boy crosses the street, his
Smile contagious, his gait strong
As he approaches the men and
Says “I am you before now, be
Of peace and good cheer.
“My commandments have no
Amendments, no magic exceptions,
No golden calves, no wicked step-
Mothers, only a heart and soul,
I am the moral of your story.”
© Lewis Bosworth, 2016
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 12:40 AM UTC
Zoom
Clank
That sound you hear
When trying to cause fear
And doubt
Within me
You threaten
And tease
Torturous
And ******
Tremendously tactless
Terror
Zoom
Clank
It goes again
What is that sound
You're hearing
You're fearing
It's an omen of what's to come
I have always been patient
Can you say the same?
Your patience is similar
To how you love.
It's fast, and burns bright
A shooting star
It felt so right
But I realize
You've done this all before
The only difference is
This time you have the ultimate weapon
You have my daughter
You will not be forgiven
You will not be apologized too
You are the embodiment of poison
But beware
My power has risen
My future is clear
Vast are my choices
I am no longer scared
Zoom
That's a bullet
fired by you
Clank
That's the bullet
Striking true
You fire your guns
But I'm bulletproof
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 2:28 PM UTC