– In about half-four?
Eventless so it is for waiting
here is stifling dull
the enervation so immense
it aches her now
each silly little thing phases you again,
envelopes you in wireless waves,
On waking up, the news app tells me
all Turks rise up from oppressive sheets
and that a
shocking percentage of the obese can bend
their slothful feet in the middle at will
Can badgers bend their feet in the middle at will too?
Make a note of that.
each & every time it is written it is read frequently with a view to publishing, thus revealing the lack of output and quality,
symptomatic of the pernicious drivel of the web, dangling out the sort of wealth that distracts from obscene penury.
The allure compels bad writing like
the ticking off to a nuisance child breeds sullen rage, a temper tantrum never aggravated an annoying fly. In this sea of sludgy dross what chance the poor genius who don’t think in code but coneys?
Self-promotion is the answer we are fed and therein lies the rub. For being a shy retiring violet with a gargantuan appetite for blood who never courts controversy or mere attention,
my chances of breaking through to international recognition are all but diddley squat
yet still you write, says Pop Up at last
The sun is beginning to shine and I have a Venezuelan cat-burglar cheesy like a Cheshire Catb getting on the tit; with a little ermine ketchup and sharp scimitar mustard I will be loin-girded to two-face the travails of fast fake days in real time…
so you pretty much write this garbage to dump it on, to let off steam, move the lonely muscle…?
when you put it like I cry
How do you thing that we feel?