Funny. Scary. True. 9 only because there are other things that scare me more.

May the flames never go out -10-

rewrite. and concentrate on giving this a beat. it's well done and deserves the attention. tend to it.7 looking for a 9

Whats a speedo working or not have to do with a truck? I'd give you the money to you if I wasn't planning on buying a drumset, 4 ounces of joy, and fixing my own car. -6-

Yeah, thanks Miggy for being so honest with me? If it wasn't for friends like you I just might wake up and smell the gangrene in my legs, thanks, your my best friend. I think the both of you either live in a parallel universe of reversed standards, or perhaps this is some game you play called 'dumbing down for monkey biscuits', either way, it's very disconcerting, because, what if you are purposely writing this dreadfully as some sort of inside joke? Good god man, get out of your parent's basement, quit playing chess on your computer, socialize, fuck, the only way this shit would fly, is out of my window on the freeway. What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you so far gone that you can't tell shit from brass man? It's writer/cashiers, writer/landscapers, writer/busboys, as you, that make me happy to be a writer/cocksucker, <you know?> I mean, for fuck's sake man? What are you thinking? I demand you go read some 'top 40' lyrics immediately, to help shed some light on this most dire of situations. Your writing makes me fucking bang my head against my mouse, and say out loud "WHY! WHY! WHY! HOW! WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK, chee cho hookie fo mo dough?" Am I on hidden camera?. Have you no distinction between what you are doing and what writers do? I demand you fucking pinch yourself and stop this nonsense.

Yes, good, very good, a nocturnavore fluffer. Very rare.

oh. yeah. sure.

That's a twist.

I was just a figment of your bum A speck gathering filth in the farest reaches of your breeches A single fading stain in your underpants, You didn't know me at all. The bum comes parading across your thoughts and dreams, Obscuring your face Covering it like that complete bastard Who covered my own face with crisps. I procrastinate obscurity like a gnome. I slipped on a giant dog, But i have left a little something, In the wilderness of your breeches, You didn't realise what you had until i left you and your underpants accidentally landed on your face.

Im beganing to disagree with your order

this poem causes you comments to lose all merit... I enjoy it.

round and round we go

some nice turns of phrase 'solace of my echoes' and half rhymes like abyss and peace But I think it is quite prose like in parts and perhaps needs tightening a bit

ha ha hee. KabooM!

good in an offhand way!

makes little sense - needs word re-arrangement.

find some ideas of your own - this contains too much old stuff.

The thing about the blues is you get to repeat everything and it's not much work, the work is in the scoring and instrumentals.

Pretty good!

yuch.