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Literature Text
Can I get a twinkie?
I want to clog my arteries
Give me a bucket of lard
So I can go for a swim
Supersize me
So my clothes won't fit me
Give me my moon pie
So I'll no longer be able to date
When did I last see my toes?
I dunno, 1985?
Been a long time.
Still I'm doing just fine.
My best friend is a Snickers bar
It satifies my like no one can.
It's all I have left since I'm alone
And chocolate's as good as sex
Right?
You tell me.
All I know is my pants are too tight.
Crap.
I want to clog my arteries
Give me a bucket of lard
So I can go for a swim
Supersize me
So my clothes won't fit me
Give me my moon pie
So I'll no longer be able to date
When did I last see my toes?
I dunno, 1985?
Been a long time.
Still I'm doing just fine.
My best friend is a Snickers bar
It satifies my like no one can.
It's all I have left since I'm alone
And chocolate's as good as sex
Right?
You tell me.
All I know is my pants are too tight.
Crap.
Literature
Your Poetry Sucks.
Poetic verse does not sleep contently within your bones.
You are not made of Shakespearean sonnets.
Metaphors do not cling to your teeth like snowdrops,
and similes do not lurk like assassins behind those false psychic eyes.
Your veins bleed nothing but red.
And your whispers,
they will never leave galaxies
along the length of spines.
So, Dear Heart,
you can take your stars,
your full moon romances,
the many, desperate love letters,
the gag-worthy cliches-
and eat them.
Literature
Tears
She was the girl with eyes of burnt amber. But her eyes weren't always that way. It came from hiding a truth so harsh that her beautiful eyes had turned dark. She swore she could never fall in love.
He was the boy with a face shaped like a broken heart. But his face wasn't always that way either. It came from caring so much about someone that his heart was scratched in cruel, manicured fingers, mangled beyond belief. He swore he would never love again.
They met in a spinal corridor. Then in a courtyard. Then in a room which had a broken window. And finally in a doorway that was too small. And she was crying.
Diamond tears from burnt amber
Literature
Is It Wrong?
Is it wrong
That I glance up at the clouds,
Feeling the wind through my hair,
And dream of a mystifying land
Where one can be accepted no matter what?
Is it wrong
That I choose to wear jeans down past my heels,
Baggy and ripped at the knees,
Unlike all the other boys that wear athletic
Shorts, so unscathed and clean?
Is it wrong
That I ask people about their troubles,
Sometimes doing all in my mortal power
To help them surpass the simple,
Even ones I have not defeated myself?
Is it wrong
That while the few friends I have
Dance around giddily and go to
The most extreme only to impress,
But I only hang back in silent content
Suggested Collections
Yeah..I'm bored.
Do not print, re-use or redistribute. Protected under the Berne Convention.
(c)2009 J Osterhaus
May scrap later, or just change the title...title's kind of lame...but can't think of a better one.
Do not print, re-use or redistribute. Protected under the Berne Convention.
(c)2009 J Osterhaus
May scrap later, or just change the title...title's kind of lame...but can't think of a better one.
© 2009 - 2024 retrolover
Comments4
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>.> chocolate does have chemical similarities to a woman who is having sex which is why so many love eating it... gives a great feeling.
I do love the angst and the sorrow in this! Then the dry humour at the end!
I do love the angst and the sorrow in this! Then the dry humour at the end!