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poem poem of the things of shame

rhymes are all kissed

if you do not like, please, go.

I look up from here if I were a blue sky

know, it's obvious a rhyme
speak of love, what else would you have expected?

should be a poem of love
but years ago I sold off my heart, I
port in a trembling hand I was back
soggy anus.

These two verses do not speak of a woman of my bad luck but
Madonna's
When I opened the door
I received a pie in the face:
was his dead flesh.

back to you.

be honest I think I see what you all black.
if I say that's not my fault I
I would say only: "Go away!"

juice my writing
Starmie is that I should shut up, get rid of

continue to hope that a nice ass
enough to learn to love.

Okay I raise my finger,
I say: I want you to die

but I think I made you flee.

I'll stay here and wait I'm tired of ruining everything


I try to touch.

Uugs Boots Woodburycommons

always went so

So it went.
After several laps around the neighborhood I can find a parking space (now do not even remember where), I drag and puddles of putrid dog shit, I put the key in the door with difficulty in the door, the elevator arrives, and by c 'is a smell of wet dog I cleaves the nasal septum. This day is coming to its dismal end worthy.
I open the door firmly banquet to be morally obligated to write something angry about statements Giovanardi, on the manic and thorough destruction of the fruits of a weekend of work the mouth of a French ass on my private life that is so private that even I know very little. And so on. I'm going to turn on the computer spewing bile when I think: "Better to go into battle with a full stomach."
pull out a cake of potatoes and started to bite in anger, like a pitt-bull doing battle on the ass of that French. I hear the ham, mozzarella and pasta potatoes that come together to throw down the chute embraced the esophagus. I'm happy for them.
Meanwhile, the hunger grows. I take out a portion of lasagna minivan with mushrooms and sausage and slam violently into the oven. In the meantime I sit down to nibble on a cigarette.
minutes pass and a full-bodied scent is spread to the kitchen. A corner of the mouth is arched in sterile micro smile facial paralysis.
Riiiiiiing. He's ready.
yanked the dough forcing her to lie face down in the pot by ridiculous decorations hospital. I throw it over. The first bite wants to disintegrate, killing the second, third left at the end of life, death, wounding the fourth, fifth and that's hurt, stun the sixth, the seventh to hurt, frighten the eighth, the ninth to disturb the tease tenth, eleventh laugh, stroking the twelfth, thirteenth hugging, kissing on the fourteenth, the fifteenth love. Over. Now I listen to Sgt Pepper
and it's wonderful to be here, it's Certainly a thrill, I do not care Giovanardi, big-butt in the fund had a beautiful smile, my private life that basically calls me every now and everything else. Now I think I'll eat the cake.