Poetry hurts me!
As I go all over the internet,
Noting random peoples diary/journal entries.... I notice more and more poems. No offense to those people, or the internet, but most of them suck ass. I swear. I read the poem and I wonder what the person ate that day. I can't say that my poetry is any better, but if I think it's bad, I'm not gonna put it up proudly on my diary. Ergh that bugs me.
Well. Here's a poem. I made it up on the spot, and it's really nothing more then a satire. So if you think this is the extent of my writing skills, then get a life, you boob.
Rhymes, times, spines, rhymes, fines, lines, rhymes, limes, crimes, and rhymes, without the rhymes.
by Maverick
The bird flies.
It lands on the branch.
The branch bends in the weighted onslaught.
Does the branch feel pain?
Should I smite the bird for causing discomfort?
Should I smite your relatives for making me eat tuna?
Should I smite the rancorr for having annoying lines around it?
Should I smite thine enemies?!?!?!
I dispise your family.
They shot the bird.
They ate the branch.
They gave me gas.
The bird sings slightly.
Even though it's shot.
It's a tough bird.
It's a dead bird.
The bird still talks despite being dead.
This makes no sense to the story.
But let's just let it go.
And it'll be our little secret.
The title.
Makes no sense.
Little to no sense.
You thought about that now?
You upset me.
You disgust me.
You sick little monkey.
Ren and Stimpy referance.
Eat the sick one. Eat it now!
Rejoice for the kettle drum!
Sing a song for the tiny tim!
Greet the giant financial eatery!
Cookies smell good!
But they hide terrible secrets!
They destroy the will of the holy!
They rape your sister!
The bagel is talking again.
It tells me to eat it.
It's crispy goodness.
Destroy my soul.
~Fin~
As I go all over the internet,
Noting random peoples diary/journal entries.... I notice more and more poems. No offense to those people, or the internet, but most of them suck ass. I swear. I read the poem and I wonder what the person ate that day. I can't say that my poetry is any better, but if I think it's bad, I'm not gonna put it up proudly on my diary. Ergh that bugs me.
Well. Here's a poem. I made it up on the spot, and it's really nothing more then a satire. So if you think this is the extent of my writing skills, then get a life, you boob.
Rhymes, times, spines, rhymes, fines, lines, rhymes, limes, crimes, and rhymes, without the rhymes.
by Maverick
The bird flies.
It lands on the branch.
The branch bends in the weighted onslaught.
Does the branch feel pain?
Should I smite the bird for causing discomfort?
Should I smite your relatives for making me eat tuna?
Should I smite the rancorr for having annoying lines around it?
Should I smite thine enemies?!?!?!
I dispise your family.
They shot the bird.
They ate the branch.
They gave me gas.
The bird sings slightly.
Even though it's shot.
It's a tough bird.
It's a dead bird.
The bird still talks despite being dead.
This makes no sense to the story.
But let's just let it go.
And it'll be our little secret.
The title.
Makes no sense.
Little to no sense.
You thought about that now?
You upset me.
You disgust me.
You sick little monkey.
Ren and Stimpy referance.
Eat the sick one. Eat it now!
Rejoice for the kettle drum!
Sing a song for the tiny tim!
Greet the giant financial eatery!
Cookies smell good!
But they hide terrible secrets!
They destroy the will of the holy!
They rape your sister!
The bagel is talking again.
It tells me to eat it.
It's crispy goodness.
Destroy my soul.
~Fin~