i was having a blast up until the last two stanzas..only because the joy of killing needs no explanation just more volunteers.t

what did you think of that movie the ring? i mean it's not quite dario argento or dawn of the dead or anything, but in its own way. i thought it was unique and disturbing..that movie fucked my head up a bit..i had migrains and nightmares, and i'm a horror movie nut..it really effected my subconscious in odd ways to say the least...creepy. indeed. 8.h

lose the last bound, and it's practically normal. almost 6.??

mornings can go both ways. can't they. like a coin flip to fountain.

this will be number one shortly, so the rune stones say...you don't leave much to mystery though in your personal description in the "about the poet catagory" do you? seventeen...huh..well know wonder why babbit made the effortless reach ah. here's a ten. have fun in college.e

musso and franks... you should lose the last sentence entirely, because that's what the poem already says..don't say it twice. 9.

Maybe I should "get busy". Might help my work. Nice a m quickie. Feels a little harsh though.

It is a very well written poem and also sweet. At parts you flowed very nicely then you broke up. But it was very good.

EEEEWWWW! You're so sick! You're a horrible horrible person and I hope you get kicked off this site and I'm going to set the police on you! These aren't funny at all, these people are all perverts, how can you write about perverts, you must be really wierd. Mommy told me to stay away from people like you. They're all ick! On a slightly more serious note, the second isn't up to the framing ones.

Your friends run amok too. You and your insane social circle. Let us hope the zombies hold their liquor as well as your friends. I somehow suspect they're all going to visit the liquor store. Remind them that the Scotch is mine, please.

It was horrible. And then the pink hippo appeared. Was it as scary as the real thing is?

line nine "with". third stanza, at the . But (lose that) start the next sentence with the but...failes or fails..guess it doesn't matter...end with "being the torturer that i am. capsized." here's an eight. 8.

are ye ill man? me thinks someone has skeleton keyed your trunk..are ye having an axel rose david geffen moment. lol! the great spagetti incident.

congradulations. here's a corvette and a superman lunchbox i got off of ebay. it has a tupperware pringle holder.

A beautiful poem about what we all do. We observe, digest and regurgitate art that shows us those wonderful moments of reality we sometimes miss..

remove asterick then capitalize, and after him...fuck it! clear the dining room..why stop there take your fork to capitol hill and be like "hey...FORK YOU!"..bastards. p.s by the way ..fork yourself he's not even cfose to being a dictator you twit, jesus christ! must i teach the youth of america everything. he's a filthy ritck brat with money and pull who's been living in a cave since their war with russia...who do you think trained him? we did you twit..thank reagan and bush and your parents for putting them and him there. there. 6.

My dear child, you are the diamond. Such a well constructed composition for someone so young, hell for anyone. I am struck by your ability to weave the thread of bees and wasps. Also the cleaning shit thing, very wise.

Fantastic. I did a funky little tango to it. things can make me laugh or curse, but damn few poems make me dance.

I agree with Baba Yaga. The rest reminds me of the song "the curse of Millhaven" and the novel And the Ass Saw the Angel.

Finally, something about suicide that isn't unspeakably bad.