Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sep 5
I found your head when you cut it off,
brains on the street; hosed it off,
carried you out after you passed asleep,
packed your wound; "yeah, you cut deep."

held your hand after your crash,
hit the tree at 75; feet up on the dash,
I gave you respect you didnt earn,
well, i never got my turn...

Why am I the problem now to you?
was it that i only served a "few"?
how many dead babies can you do?
i burned out early, get the clue?

I did it all for free,
while less trained people charge a fee?
oh, there is a problem that I see...
flesh of a dead god, that's your glee?
I have a math problem for you solve it and message me and ill buy you lunch...:

1*2/p-y*8=?

first 100 right answers win



oh, the integers were not assigned a value but they have one, to be solved you must solve the integers also.... thats what its like trying to learn math after you miss 2 years for being arrested as the victim of child abuse at the hands of your principal and family
Timothy Fuller
Written by
Timothy Fuller  36/M/AZ, USA
(36/M/AZ, USA)   
30
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems