I wrote a poem, nothing too fancy
- Locked due to inactivity on Jun 10, '20 3:54am
Thread Topic: I wrote a poem, nothing too fancy
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I want to beat you to death with a blunt object.
I want to grab one of those high-end fashion mannequins by the ankles and bash your ribcage in.
I want to sharpen fifty pencils, bind them with a rubber band, stick the lead ends in your mouth, and punch the erasers.
I want to strap you to a bed of nails and then strap that bed of nails to the hood of my car so I can watch you suffer as we drive over speed bumps in a mall parking lot during an earthquake.
I want to burn your dog in front of you, mix his ashes with gunpowder, melt his bone-shaped name tag into a small metal ball, load it all into a musket, and shoot you in the face with it.
I want you to somehow survive a terrible car crash and then somehow not survive a small fender bender on the way back from the hospital. -
I call the Poem dad
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Actually, a bed of nails isn't so bad.
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That's so cute
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only if your weight is evenly balanced
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"Martha was ugly like a shaven baboon
So she wrapped herself up in a curtain cocoon
And after a week, she finally emerged
She smelled like s---. What a psycho." -
Ok.
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"Me, with my strange choice of adjectives
You, with your muscular teeth
And your clockwise vagina." -
XDDD Martha epic fail
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"If I had a million dollars, I'd pay your mother to have sex with me
Afterwards, probably I'd invest in the remaining $999,990"
*Chimes play*
$10 for sex with your mother! Comedy! -
"Mid-October, with leaves spilled like colored pencil shavings
The streets dicing our town into neat, unfair portions
And me, eatin' that p---- , baby!" -
lmao I'm using that on my friends now
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cute omg ♡
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“Well, man, you know what they say."
No, I don't. I don't know what they say.
I don't even know who they are.
Who is this they?
They seem pretty smug.
They seem to think they know s---.
f--- them.” -
“Our father, who art in heaven,
hallowed be thy name,
hollow be thy promises
and shallow be thy shame.
Thy kingdom come.
Thy will be done
on earth as it is in heaven.
On a scale from on to ten,
our Lord is totally eleven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
toasted close to dawn,
and forgive us our trespasses
as we shoot those who trespass on our lawn,
and lead us not into temptation,
such as pot or p---o,
but deliver us from evil
(if not delivery, then DiGiorno).”
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