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Generation Next, Fuck you(The Fake Out) (Free verse) by thepinkbunnyofdoom She hit it twice
And said it that was nice
So I lay in paradise
Watching as she
Called out orders
With her twirling tongue
She called up the reserves
Saying the little bastards
Got what they deserved
Racing off into hi-way traffic
With such fearless nerve
Down a one way tunnel
Toward foreign soil after dark
Hoping to hit the right waters
You see, You see,
A sad set of swimmers
Behind her drum's beat
March, March, Come Forward,
First man to the finish,
Lair, Lair,
Race on,
faster, faster,
Bang, Bang,
Blast off the cannon
Welcome, Welcome
Lair, Lair
Swim on, swim on,
Close, close
Here it comes
Surprise, Surprise
Lake of fire
Up the ladder:
ghost host
Down the ladder:
Dance in my Golden Shower
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 6.875
Posted: January 28, 2006 4:04 PM PST; Last modified: January 28, 2006 4:11 PM PSTWeighted score: 5.5042653 Overall Rank: 2672 Comments:
[n/a]
Ranger @ 62.252.32.15
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29-Jan-06/1:40 PM
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Reply
This one's tricky to comment on; a lot of people have looked at it according to the hits counter, but I can only assume that they, like I, don't really know what to make of it. It feels like it's a good poem, but it's more than my tiny brain can get round at the moment. If you gave me an explanation, maybe that would help.
Okay--think I get it. Do the swimmers think they're swimming someplace else; is that it? Lake of fire = stomach acids (as opposed to more welcoming ground)?
Must be the month for blowjob poems, huh? ;-D
Good call. At first I thought it was a bong thing but I think you aced this one.
You hit it on the head(No pun intended). As for the month for blowjob poems, thats more next month.
;-) <3 Jason
Is this one of your sex poems, one of your war-commentary poems, or a drug poem? Or 'the ignorance and bliss of unknowing the young possess'?
"And said it that was nice"> wanna fix that? (that it?)(said it was nice?)(And said,"That was nice.")?
It is everything that was in my head at one moment, at one time. Flames of thought, burning bright, junping torch to torch in death, lighting dark recesses, buried beneath a coat of dust, being swept away, to be poured down the drain, as you question, these strange breath's that I call an answer, are merely images captured by a floating attention span, traslated to text in my passing with a computer screen.
<3 Jason
Okay...you cleared that up...
now post THAT reply (as a poem), so I can vote on IT!...it is as good as, and better than, some stuff I've seen on here!
OK I suppose.
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