...Stand....Stand.She beat me to it,then beat me with it.A pair of heavenly bodies,Fighting the gravity of our collective density.Shooting starlets is this galaxy choked night sky.Upon re-entry,We broke up in the atmosphere.Meteor shower, with an asteroid massage.Trip the lights horrific.No one told me it was B.Y.O.Brimstone.Prince Charming plastic face,Could never afford the palace.She blinked my haleys commet,Greyscale aurora borealis.Cynical whore with her lasso umbilical chord.She called it off with a tear filled molotov.And its over.And its over and over and over.will i ever get over?will i ever under..
The Perfect WordThe Perfect Word.The perfect word. The next word. One that fits. One that fits as if it were willed to the page. Cemented. Impervious to eraser tips and backspace backspace backspace keystrokes. Does it exsist? It must. Where is it then? Wedged deep down between the couch cushions. The metaphorical couch cushions of course. No the metaphysical couch cushions. No. The perfect word. Something that rummages through the memory's attic stack of yellowed newspapers with out tearing a page. Mummery. Strumpet. Glim. No no and no. A sentence written is a sentenced flawed. To think we might have strung a string of perfect words is
Binge and PurgeBinge:Gab el. Bachman. Deep. France. Bergman. Evans. Rise. Sage. Franz. Polanski. Cinematic. Bass. Black. Morgana. Wealth. Eve. Mibikids. Rife. Mornling. Cyrano. Deeper. Scribe. Hudson. Buksport. Ship. Mow. Berkshire. Fellini. Fincher. Astronomer. Riley. Chompsky. Court. Love. Route. Bloniasz. Jove. Distance. Fabric. Producto. Emby. Dean. Freed. Professor. Space. Apotheosis. List. Geodesica. Norcross. Ingersol. Chabert. Chaucer. Noon. Zero. Little. Words. Deepest. Self.Purge:Its not as if Maya Angelou was strung up naked from a Mississippi delta born cotton tree. Well, actually it was. You see back when black buskins beat back the bra
Primordial Soup of the Day"Primordial Soup of the Day"Im chalant although inquiring mimes want to showThe life and times of Pontifaux.I strike a balance,Or was it balance on strike.Seen enough mourning, just tell me what dawn's like.Equal parts critic-idealistMimic and realistRound off my age just to know what a wheel is.The shyest of shysters"Do you want your pie sliced sir?"A guy but no geyserThe wry of the wiserShaped in dents, my sapienceAnd my Wisdom tooth,Incisor.I binge...and purge...Binge and purge and binge and purge.Cringe and merge the fringe and verge.Atoms with Eve's drop, datum's deseased cropMadam will you please
It work very well
منتديات | منتدى | دردشة صوتية | دردشه |شات كتابي | |العاب فيديو
شات |دليل | دليل مواقع |السياحة | |برامج كمبيوتر