Poll: awdaw
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View poll results: awdaw
4 67%
2 33%
Voters: 6.
3 days don't vote for yourself

by: zC

Man, I've figured it out!
I think I need a girl
who could appreciate a deadpan
to make me feel alive.
I know I been walking around
half-smile, half-frown
for, I don't know, the last
every year of my life,

but I been thinking I'm a fallen angel,
sent to pick apples of trees
and dig up the seeds.
Props, God, for recognizing
the suburbs would need a guy like me --
and now, I'll show them I'm the one,
like Yoda was before me,
and speak to them in tongues

comatose, I am,
[but it's better than]
cadaverous, you are.

---mid-day drinks---
by: SilenceEvolves

I sat across from my Mexican co-worker at lunch.
He rambled and twisted phrases in half-assed spanglish;
while sipping on straight tequila,
like all good Mexicans should.
I nodded and smiled when his pauses
called for it and pretended like I understood
every fucking word that came out of his mouth.
I didn't understand any of it...
or care to.

I was more concerned about sipping
my whiskey and fantasizing about a life that
doesn't feel like I'm stuck on god-damned
heebie-jeebie island out in the middle of
nowhere with only José to listen to.
I just want to be stuck on an island where
there are titties to bounce and distract me
from alcohol and the plight of mexican
corn farmers.
I found this match-up pretty funny because we have similar writing styles in the first place. Which is also funny considering how different our musical tastes are.

I wish I would've sent in something else though, I've just been swamped.
Tough, I went with blue
Vivamus mea Lesbia, atque amemus,
rumoresque senum seueriorum
omnes unius aestimemus assis!
Quote by ZanasCross
I really loved the last idea in your version of me. Like... I masturbated last night while thinking about it.


I masturbate when I think about my Mexican co-worker and when I think about whiskey, so you stroked gold twice in your poem.