You imagine that you are dead
In a world where you are king
So you canít feel pain and witness democracy.
Those you hate are servants
And they serve only you,
The ones you love are near
But they donít have any emotions,
Just the way you want them to.
You control everyone like pawns in a chess game,
It makes you feel like you are in gods shoes
But yet you wonder
Just who is leading who?
All the riches and fame you wished you had gained
Are right at your feet,
Everything you want is in your mind
composed as a dream,
It must be nice to know if everything in life fails
You can always be a king.
As I'm writing this poem
I push a beer down my gullet
2006 and I still wear a mullet.
To make up a word like jingles
So I could rhyme it with pringles
I went to the doctors
And he cured me of shingles.=Not true..............I was never cured
My talent is lacking
in creating a poem
By reading this trite
It might make you groan =(GROAN)
I read your own poem's
They were better than this
For me to read this
I'm gonna have to get pissed.
My poem isn't heartfelt
In fact it's quite daft
So after I'm done
I'm going to stab my heart with a dart.= that bits particularly bad.
So to my Clone
I write this poem for you
And if you don't like it
I might make love to emu's.=That's where I lost the plot.
I apologize to everyone who reads this..........NOT!!!!!!