Poemranker [Replying] Thu Nov 21 23:50:04 PST 2024

Replying to a comment on:

When you lose your mom And it makes your life turn cold When it tears you apart Your heart and soul just can't go on When love's alive, it sets you free When it's gone, I flatter z And even love can become a lethal weapon When you lose control And you scare yourself sometimes When you really don't care, yeah That your poems don't even rhyme No one outside can understand You take your life in your own hands And even love can become a lethal weapon Killing you, that's the last thing cancer Was ever meant to do Become a lethal weapon You know there is no hope of breaking free And what you suffer happily That's when love itself becomes A lethal weapon

poetandknowit

3-Aug-03/1:09 AM

Matt, Matt, Matt. Here I was all geared up for some fine and biting satire at my own expense and all you give me is Gordon Lightfoot. I thought Canadians are supposed to have a better educational system then the US, smarter undergrads and all. You have the statistics somewhere! But wait, you have to finish the new Mega Man video game before you can reveal them. You go for my dear dead mother again? What is the point? What are you after there? I am glad she is still weighing on your mind after so many months considering she was quite the woman. So, what kind of Canadian are you? Oh yes, the kind that hang out with other folks that get a kick out of watching 3000 people die. All while you and the gang are sitting around mommy and daddy's pool living the good life. Free health care and all. Oh yes, I remember. Is this really all you can muster? I mean are you really lacking sleep so much that your brain has fizzled to the point of no longer speaking in anything but D&D lingo and Barenaked Ladies lyrics. There is no subtext hidden beneath Be My Yokon Ono, I swear.

Your mother will die one day, you know. And it may be from the likes of cancer. And you will have to sit and watch her rot away right in front of your eyes and you will come back to this site and read my dear dead mommy poems and cry yourself to sleep at night. She will piss out her own bile. Do you know what bile looks like? It is this brown goop. Dark brown. And looks like a runny shit but it is coming straight out of the liver into a little bag. And your mother will turn to you and look at you the only way a mother can look at the son she gave birth to and let you know that she cannot take it anymore. And maybe you will run across the entire fucking world looking for just one doctor. Just one who will say MAYBE? Maybe we can get a handle on this. But he will be the most unfeeling human on the earth and guinea pig your mother who I assume you love. And then she will leak from the incisions, it will be every place, and no matter how many towels you pull from the closet it will not be enough. And you will think to yourself, does the body really have this much shit in it. If there were really a god, wouldn't he/she have simplified things a bit? So, you are up to your knees in it. You mother is begging you to make it stop. To make everything stop, but you are ill equipped. You are unprepared to deal with this. And then you will have to deal with the hallucinations in the middle of the night as she is dying right in front of you. You had better start praying to Geddy Lee right now, my friend. Because karma has a way of crawling through locked doors.

Track and Plan your submissions ; Read some Comics ; Get Paid for your Poetry

An internet tradition since June 9, 2001