

Poem without a nameSing a song of slavery Children in mind poverty Hold out their arms imploringly Only to bePoem without a name
Opposed, their dreams of originality Lost.


I am French Fry.i sit in a carton, cluttered together with more of my own kind sitting at the bottom with nothing to hold me apart from the other french fries. fingers pluck me from my miserable, bland hole, and teeth nibble at my sides i am then smeared in red paste; not even my destroyer thinks i am worth eating without ketchup...I am French Fry.


ImaginingThe rain runs softly to the ground Dripping off the branches At a perfect endless motion Like tiny, angry creaturesImagining
Dripping off the branches It grumbles slightly Like tiny, angry creatures Half asleep and full of honey
It grumbles slightly Rolling over in your mind Half asleep and full of honey Like a tired, sated dog
Rolling over in your mind The fantasies keep parading Like a tired, sated dog Filled with dreams of better days
The fantasies keep parading Past your tightly opened eyes Full of dreams of bette
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Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn. Ia!"
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"If this is all a dream, don't wake me up."
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moochas smoochies
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The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world that he did not exist
~Kevin Spacy, Usual Suspects
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"I'd like to join a club and beat you over the head with it."
-Groucho Marx
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███End/system ♥ ™
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Love is Death by Choice.
Please Kill Me.
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