~Meh Poetry Thread~

F.Y.C.N.

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<div class='quotetop'></div><div class='quotemain'>"Any healthy man can go without food for two days - but not without poetry."

Charles Baudelaire

French poet (1821 - 1867)</div>

<span style="color:DarkOrchid">I'll dump my poems here whenever I feel like it. :p

Feel free to comment on any of them. </span> :pirate:
 

F.Y.C.N.

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Poem entry #1 "Mr. President"

<span style="color:DarkOrchid">Mr. President,

Take it all, bring them down.
Make them cry, make them frown.
Build your reputation, collect your vibes.
Misplace their feelings and control their lives.
Tell them you forgot what it felt like,
how it burned,
how it stung,
how you yearned for the dream of what?
Being young?
Rewind your lies and gain some feeling.
Give back the patience you've been stealing.
Shed that steel shell you've been hiding under,
stop firing those missles, tearing nations asunder.
Build your fort and stake your claim,
grow a dick and state your name.
Hang a sign on your front door,
"No hippies allowed, no calming herbs."
"No peace and love, and furthermore,
I'll kiss your asses while you line the curbs."
So wait in the dark for the world to die,
build your empire and let the bombs fly.
Becuase I'm sure as hell not going to be the one,
fingers will point to, when the worst is done.</span>
 

F.Y.C.N.

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Poem entry #2 "The Dust Bunny Poem"

<span style="color:DarkOrchid">Under the couch,
sliding along the floor.
Do you care where you go?
Pffft, not anymore.

You hang around under my bed...
Then when I'm asleep,
you dance on my head.
Damn you dust bunny!
I wish you were dead!

Dance among the dirt and carpet,
behind the microwave,
across the counter.
A soft breeze blows you around,
you remain evasive as ever...
Never to be found.

Stupid little fuzzy bastard.</span>
 
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this bitch was sucking my cock
the clock struck 2
i squirted my goo
and wipped my dick on her frock
 

F.Y.C.N.

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Poem entry #3 "Insomniac"

<span style="color:DarkOrchid">A dark shroud, peirced by lances of light from my window.
They wash my walls and dance towards me, fading over my head.
The soft glow of the television set flickers in pattern.
I strain my eyes to see what time it is.
Three O' Four glares my watch, the light spreading in my squinted vision.
Twas it the java I drank at noon?
Or the light meal I ate post rest?
I flip my pillows to feel untainted cold comfort.
My eyes droop as if on strings attached to the floor,
but my mind, it stays sharp and alert, slightly disoriented.
I cease the television's power and stare at the ceiling,
hoping to feel that... 'tired' feeling.
A shadow moves out of the corner of my eye,
I shift my vision to look, only to see nothing.
Am I paranoid? Will the thoughts I bear in mind allow me to rest?
I feel like something needs to be done, yet all is at peace.
No misplaced items of personal value, no turmoil in the night.
All is at peace, all is right.
How do I sleep? I can't recall how I've done it...
I can count sheep until morning...
Or close my eyes until dawn.
Maybe I'll just lay here and wait.
Wait and yawn.</span>