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Hey kids! Welcome to the poetry section of my site. First off, my poetry is sick and twisted and has none of the characteristics of the poetry that is posted by teenage girls in dar myspaces anda deadjournals (in place of "poetry," livejournal users have prozac). Instead I write first-grade-style Haikus and sonnets about fat people. Although I am a very unhappy person, there'll be no slitting wrists for me! Suicide is clearly an impractical solution anyway. If everyone else is the fucktard, why should have to die? Even if I considered it, I don't think I would want to make my parents have to clean up the coagulated blood and brains in the corners of my room after I shoot myself in the head. Actually I would. I don't like thems very much. YAY! In summary, my poetry is just good old morbid humor. ENJOY!

-Mystryss Darque Wintyr Nyght Rayn Ravyn


the eternal dark abyss of my infernal bleeding soul:


5/04      AP
7/01      Tons of Fun
1/15/05   Donnybrook
6/22/05   Inbred Purebred



*GUEST POETS!!!*..oh shit, that sounded too happy...ahem

guest poets:

Matthew Fresta
6/14/05   untitledpoemofaninebriate







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hey, look, its the feminine form of charles







AP Cripples minds
Slit my throat with a dull spork
bipolar teacher

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She is known as lardo butt
a.k.a. cottage cheese thighs
People say she's tons-of-fun
as she eats five dozen blueberry pies

She follows the children up the stairs
arrives there five days later
once she gets there they push her over
and she rolls to the bottom only to call the cater..er...

she tells everyone she is large and in charge
she convinces them being obese is great
she believes that food is God
though heart disease and clogged arteries will be her fate

THE END!

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donnybrook, donnybrook
free-for-all
donnybrook, donnybrook
dublin brawl

follow the will of the wind, me boys
yer mother looks fat in der corduroys

donnybrook, donnybrook
bludgeon his shins
i want a 1959 hearse
with fins

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shreds of white
strewn across the ground
like the feathers of a bird
caught
in
a
jet
engine
Canidae Enuresis
aging like fine wine
repugnance breeding in my nasal cavities
M E R D A
Sounds of an
eighty
year
old
cancer patient


i need my steroids


blind eyes of visceral intuition


love me


Inbred.     Purebred.

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guest poets

Matthew Fresta

to slow down a car when going very fast down a hill is to go back gears and apply slight pressure to the breaks and talk to your drunk friends in the car and crank up the wireless and listen to the lastet Elvis Presely song.

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