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Creeping like snailsWhile walking dark and muddy paths, I came upon this fray With endless hoardes of demon kids, All clad in black and grey.Creeping like snails
Their faces pale and clothing ripped, Their fingers in to fists were gripped, They cried aloud, quietly first: 'I hate my life! So do your worst!'
'Alright' I said, 'you crazy shits!' 'I'll chop your stupid ass to bits!' My weapon whirred its baneful song, 'Hold on!' I said 'It won't be long!'
Chainsaw lifted above my head, I charged in to the evil dead: Limbs sawn off and eyes removed, 'Hey' I said 'Th
by ~Dirk-Cjeli
This poem is bad - Skip it.Now I’m a man with little rhyme A cow could better describe a fine Woman’s face or defineThis poem is bad - Skip it.
The meaning of life, my saving grace My inhibition, to write a line That I am sitting here, not keeping pace With the football, I’m not inclined Not yet so lazy to sit and face The television, the opiate To the estranged masses Pandora’s Box, we’ve opened it Found biscuits and molasses So we sit, our arses growing Not caring if our waists are bulging For we are now indulging In the best, or worse, there is to offer?
by ~Dirk-Cjeli
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- Current Residence: London, England
- Tools of the Trade: This computer, the desk I smack my head against
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Be well.
And you know perfectly well that even if my computer displayed those symbols that I couldn't read them.
He often wears a suit
And when he starts to sing a song
I pelt him with some fruit
Of course his suit is therefore doused
In colours not-quite black
And when he tries to wipe it off
I'll only throw it back
One day I hope he'll see the point
Of this quite sordid thing:
He really ought not to wear clothes
Each time he tries to sing.
--
-StationToStation-
To ask for your words, but alas and alack
Pete came along and read what I said
And added some verses, to fill you with dread.
So now you are caught,
and penned by his power,
so follow his plot
and sing in your shower.
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