All Slipped Up, Ready To Rouse
All slipped up, ready to rouse,
Take your medicine, no time to drouse,
In your head, that's where it's at,
Not thinking whether to use that gat,
Drop it, crush it, make it no more,
Leave it as an ornament to prop up your door,
Floor, your, four-score-and-ten,
Lying cold in your coffin trying to remember them,
Wake in life, sleep in death,
Just don't forget about the peppermints for your breath.
Fin.
Originally posted by Syren
Ou, would you mind terribly if I asked you to post all of your poetical efforts in a single thread? We don't want too much clutter and everyone else has cooperated eyes
I initally thought that my masterpieces each deserved a place of their own, thus reinforcing their sphere of individuality. However, in light of their timeless importance, I concur that a single thread of epic proportions would indeed substantiate their greatness. It shall be done.