

ScrannelSometimes words of honey And at others, those of pitch. A cold trickle of water, Or perhaps a rotten abrasion.Scrannel
Words themselves remain impartial. Only the candy-coating conveys The undercurrent.
So that meaning can still be found In the baying of my rasping throat. Even when the flow comes jagged As it does in this faltering poem.


WeenWe've had it wrong for years, and we should never have Forced so many children Into the cold realms Of philosophy.Ween
Such tiny hands Only really ever produce Sophistry and Solipsisms.
Worthless.


SwevenUmm, excuse me? I am way too waspy for this. Boiled potatoes, stewed beef. That is more me.Sweven
I find your headdress tacky and Outmoded. It reminds me Too much of smallpox blankets.
And anyway, shouldn't I be seeing Wings and clouds and Jesus?
This is the third impertinent perversion Of God's number, you know. (The first being Lucky Number Sleven, The second being the name Steven.)
You should just let me sleep.


Point-DeviceIt demurely shakes off the paleo-dust, A little callipygian, verbal beast. A coquette of syllable recognition, And some long interred desire. A fire I'd grown inured against.Point-Device
Some arcane tongue sprung up Between the cracks in our modern language. It matches a need I have, quite point-device, Rolling ball, blank ink, point: extra fine.
Come here, little darling. I won't lose you again. But the world sees only your awkward corners.
Come home with me, And let me run your hyphen across my lips. Never be alone again, until I die.
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Cow go Bloop Bloop
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SigDig it.
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You never did the Kenosha Kid.
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[link]
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Never let today's disappointments overshadow tomorrow's dreams.
~*dragoncharmer02*~
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SigDig it.
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SigDig it.
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98% of teenagers drink or have been around alcohol. Paste this if you like muffins.
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