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dull boy · 03-08-2014, 06:29 PM

Sexy suicide. I masturbate to my turmoil. Masking tape'll turn her loyal. I tie hearts in mental abuse. I'm not crazy, I just acknowledge shit, and am conscious in what you're 'too civil' to do. Dribble. That's all I scribble, it's true. Friends of mine think I'm getting simple... that, too. I watch the apathy wrap around my passion. Can't stop what's happening. Rapping's how I patch shit. Nah, nah... see... that shit's just not true. Poetry's finding holes in weak minds = you. I just stroll through these lines. Poke and read rhymes. Mostly define poo. HE SAID POO. That's wack. Dude is wack. He doesn't fit the mold we were told was phat. With a pee H. Like the black people say. Or Jaimie Kennedy. Or whatever new celebrity acts like token black guy. You're all stupid. We're all human. It's all useless. I see the future. I know I should enjoy the present. Can't avoid these lessons. Random ploys. Impressive. Panic poised. I'm stressing. Cannons pointed. Press 'em.

Read my thoughts. Articulate 'em entertainingly. Untangle what I've lost. Heart skipping dates. So bitter/vacant; me. Maybe he, should show a little bravery. None of you are real. Fakes patting each others backs. I'm in a grave, laughing 'cause no one lasts. I say phrases that summon gasps. In pain, waiting to come unclasped. Lung collapsed. BEAUTIFUL POIGNANT POETRY THAT TOUCHES SOFT SPOTS IN YOUR PUSSY FUCKING FEELINGS. You have a pussy. Must conceal it. Trust me, cut and peel it out your body. Be a zombie. Kill your mommy. Kill your parents.

03-08-2014, 06:29 PM	#1
dull boy consults Lloyd Join Date: Aug 2013 Posts: 4,053 Battle Record: 0-8 Champed -1-2 Punch League Roast Rep Power: 39345604	YOU must enter a title subject Sexy suicide. I masturbate to my turmoil. Masking tape'll turn her loyal. I tie hearts in mental abuse. I'm not crazy, I just acknowledge shit, and am conscious in what you're 'too civil' to do. Dribble. That's all I scribble, it's true. Friends of mine think I'm getting simple... that, too. I watch the apathy wrap around my passion. Can't stop what's happening. Rapping's how I patch shit. Nah, nah... see... that shit's just not true. Poetry's finding holes in weak minds = you. I just stroll through these lines. Poke and read rhymes. Mostly define poo. HE SAID POO. That's wack. Dude is wack. He doesn't fit the mold we were told was phat. With a pee H. Like the black people say. Or Jaimie Kennedy. Or whatever new celebrity acts like token black guy. You're all stupid. We're all human. It's all useless. I see the future. I know I should enjoy the present. Can't avoid these lessons. Random ploys. Impressive. Panic poised. I'm stressing. Cannons pointed. Press 'em. Read my thoughts. Articulate 'em entertainingly. Untangle what I've lost. Heart skipping dates. So bitter/vacant; me. Maybe he, should show a little bravery. None of you are real. Fakes patting each others backs. I'm in a grave, laughing 'cause no one lasts. I say phrases that summon gasps. In pain, waiting to come unclasped. Lung collapsed. BEAUTIFUL POIGNANT POETRY THAT TOUCHES SOFT SPOTS IN YOUR PUSSY FUCKING FEELINGS. You have a pussy. Must conceal it. Trust me, cut and peel it out your body. Be a zombie. Kill your mommy. Kill your parents.