I'm hungry, where's my tea?I’m hungry, where’s my tea? rantI'm hungry, where's my tea?
The woman I love is fictional, therefore is everything I could ever wish for: a lover who'll never fail me; someone who is pure of word and deed and will not fuck me over in favour of some asshole that swings his balls
from his car. She has a steady job – housewife - understands alone time; will love me warts n all; doesn’t hog the blankets. But here's the strife: imaginary women aren't all that good at keeping blokes warm at night, or buying birthday gifts, or cooking dinner. Should,
and trust me, it is not for want of trying, &n
If my boss were a pigeonIf my boss were a pigeonIf my boss were a pigeon
The young man in the grey hooded shirt has eyes So sad, that his bottle blue glasses refuse to lie
On his nose. Like a freshly baked cherry pie, I think he is the most handsome puddle on the whole Of the flooded road. Near him, denying all rigmarole, I am compelled to take off my wellies; lose all self control And leap into the liquid gray sky, learning to fly just to
Become his favourite weather. Paused, he searches to lasso: Shrapnel change in worn pockets he long outgrew. In front of a store that would sell him a small window Into the lives
--
“Now me lay down
to sleep.
Mow da zeebas down
like sheep.
Give dem to me
nice and dead.
Me no happy
‘til me fed.”
-Bedtime prayer of crocs (Pearls Before Swine)
I'm glad yu like my poems
--
Communication is everything.
Convey what you mean, for uninvited coyness leads to catastrophe.
Just kidding.
As for katherinerose... You are a newbie. But everyone is a newbie at one time.
--
Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most.
==Mark Twain
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