Thursday Nov 02, 2006

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I just found this poem I wrote a while ago. It was my final for my poetry class, a sonnet in the shakespearean rhyme scheme.


With shuffling feet he stumbles
Dead fingers streching towards my face
The flesh of his arm crumbles
My heart's a hummingbirds pace
He lets aloud a mighty groan
My fingers tighten on the bat
For although I am all alone
I'm not going to put up with that
I bash his head and his brains splatter
Crumpling up he hits the ground
Blood rains down with pitter-patter
A terrible, unearthly sound
Of my city, they did rob me
Mother-fucker I hate Zombies
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
desiree:
aCk!!
kmatt:
I had one or two friends who would give me food when they could. As for the rest of the time, I lived and thrived off of Wendy's dollar menu. Jr. Backon Cheesburger Deluxe and a Small chili and I was good to go.

I've seen some kids picking out of the dumpster, but I never had to do that. Getting 2-3 dollars a day wasn't that hard, you could always spare change it or find someone willing to give you a couple bucks for an odd job here and there.

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