DetailsThe poem, its numbers, and the conversation.

03/30/04

Member since 2003 · Posted 19 Apr 2004 · 7 comments

Dear Diary, Your counsel is like brandy I haven't drank Your experiences are but blotted reflections of mine And your memories dictated by my grammar Your advices are spitted forth by my pen The comfort you give are defined by my handstrokes Your hatred is a weak confession when I start to write them down And what of love? But an echo of my first kiss And see how you easily fold around the corners The only thing we have in common is emptiness Dear Diary, Understanding you is death

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mean 5.29 weighted 5.08 rank 6508 views 273 View voting details →

7 votes so far. Yours would make 8.7 votes so far

7 comments

[1] Stephen Robins 19-Apr-04/6:48 AM Reply

A satchel full of sun dried turds.

[8] Dan garcia-Black 19-Apr-04/8:08 AM Reply

Yeah, I know what you mean. I think you are capable of saying it better. But it stands at a '8' on its own. Thanks for not making it as long as my wordy verses.

[n/a] Lifeboatman › Dan garcia-Black 19-Apr-04/9:32 PM Reply

wouldn't have dreamt of it..

[7] deleted user 19-Apr-04/9:45 AM Reply

The first verse is good.
The second verse is vague, but ok. comfort -> comforts.
I think you could do without the last "Dear Diary . . ."
Overall, a good effort.

[n/a] Lifeboatman › deleted user 19-Apr-04/9:32 PM Reply

thanks..

[10] Shardik 19-Apr-04/11:45 AM Reply

I liked it.

[n/a] Lifeboatman › Shardik 19-Apr-04/9:32 PM Reply

thanks..