The petals flutter.
Rain hunts returned eagerness.
The angels carouse.

Twisted petals fall.
Wise, broken love plunders earth.
Ice turns but rain waits.

Got you again stupid

One last go
Its EMULATION is the SINCEREST form of flattery
You EXTRA BORING MORON

no, it's imitation and all of you are
morons.

hot and itchy box
moving, getting bit by black
widows...could be worst

Sorry that

Its emulation you moron

Orangutan But
A new type of diesis from deep south
See it in my jeans

Where did he go to
His mum must have called him in
No more play tonight

South

BLAH, BLAH, YAKKITY SMAKITY...
SHUT UP PUNK! THIS IS MY HOUSE,
NOT YOURS....GET OUT OF HERE!
Boring

Who are you? You bore
Who yanked your chain from on high
Get yourself a life

BORRRRRRRRRRRING!! HA, HAAA
HAAAA, HOOOOOO HEEEEEE!
I am a fuck head

Who are you? You bore
Who yanked your chain from on high
Get yourself a life

A trivial g-string
Starts off at the bottom of
the nile never killed the top

A trivial listing
Starts off at the bottom pile
Never reached the top

Chewing on a bug
Not letting its wings touch me
Not tasting this rich bugs life

Bouncing my super ball
out in the street
thinking i need sumpin to eat
or it should be discreet
maybe a beet
or when i go to bed, a sheet
please dont delete
until then we meet
so please be descrete

Me and SF, bestest buddies in the
world. I will follow and worship him
as long as the world turns

Chewing on a bite
Not letting it touch the sides
Not tasting this rich life

Teeming with small life
I swim in the pond of life
Risking infection

Life

Throw myself off high
Dropping down fast like a stone
Knew I could fly

Testing all my strength
Cautiously I spread my wings
Edge nearer the rim

Trials on the Internet
A full test of endurance
The feeble minded won

31643, 31645, 31647, 31647, 31649, 31651, 31663, 31664, not mine:

mox is not fine wine
doesn't get better with age
quite the opposite

sing a hymn to god
he is not unlike ourselves
he needs a good laugh

get your tubes tied bitch
i'm cutting off the species
one bitch at a time

since the dawn of man
over and over again
the same dumb mistake

thanks for having me
now you don't have to look at
your failing marriage

there was too much love
between mommy and daddy
so i'm the run-off

why do you want kids?
because you find no meaning
within your own life

i cherish my flaws
no social homogeny
not now, not ever

my approaching death
will it truly be the end
one can only hope

i get sad sometimes
the world is yearning for love
where shall we find it

i am outgoing
i like candle-lit dinners
and walks on the beach

i love to write words
writing is self expression
unless you are mox

I can hear Ben Stein
saying "oh...wow..." in his dry
manner right now, I feel

oh, a challenge,
wow...

Zabadooey, I don't care
keep masturbating your words on this website
I'll take pictures and sell
them to some gay porn site for cheap

Shortly bad spring talks.
Softly, a foolish star walks.
A kind vampire burns

william writes a lot of things
doesn't he?

There is no pain, except that
which is not experienced, and that which was lost due to lack of trust

small town baptist
says one thing about love
and goes on like a little kiss ass
sucking the marrow out of the trust
in any
God

(well, I am impressed
by my own writing then if
"someone" was willing to steal
it, save the good stuff for myself
and let these guys think they have me!)

the thief comes quickly
through the night and writing
is competition, ass kissing
and who gets the contract
and who dies penniless fired from
a warehouse waiting, for the new seed

doesn't matter who wrote
it, what matters is, the words
were said, and here they are
to be splattered for all

the internet is just a giant
grafitti machine for digital
spray cans...

the man in the mountain fell
down, 9/11 saw the end of the Trade Centers, and people
show their true fear ridden selves
now, survive in the job, trade yourself in for a worthless piece of paper, when a drive into the lake is the best choice, and the car sinks, and death is a relaxing ride
and the terrorists thought they were in heaven, they have nothing and gave others nothing except questions, pain and history

quiet coffehouses
with damned intellectual
idle chatter, thank God
for them