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Sketcher Nov 2018
Recently, I've been tired of only writing about heartbreak,
It was a way to cope with my heart when it would ache,
So I started to show a different side of me,
An ugly side that was recently set free,
I would write about the worst things I could think about,
Then I could think of worse so I would continue to spout,
Out negative events that would trigger negative feelings,
And compel negative actions through terrible meanings,
It's easy to write when there's an intense impression,
That you keep feeling so poems put out in rapid succession,
Poem after poem, they're all displaying depression,
And then a friend came by and decided to mention,
That there is a different way to plot your poems,
Act like its a freestyle rap and let your mind roam,
Say what you think and write what you say,
The good, the bad, the straight, the gay,
But all that came through, day after day,
Was the bad and ugly, the black and the grey,
No good thoughts would ever come about,
Just words that made people cry or pout,
Or just get uncomfortable and stop reading,
On my terrible words, your mind was feeding,
I need to make people feel good about themselves,
Make them feel powerful and like there's a way to help,
Or completely solve every problem,
Or maybe I could just sit and rob them,
Of their good days and just write what I want,
I don't care if it pays, It's just to soothe the night,
Terrors and morning traumas,
Away with the fake people and their drama,
Now I'm going to go **** a llama.
Just threw that last line in to throw you off. ******* is bad. Don't do it. Enjoy!
Sketcher Nov 2018
Narrator: I set the scene with a small child,
And a mother who is extremely wild,
When it comes to beating and cheating,
But right now the mothers mood is mild,
Mother asked daughter to go to sleep,
Because this insane child was being mean,
Dad is outside of the room with open ears,
By the end of this, I hope you're laughing with tears,
Maybe you will laugh hard if you are ****** up as I,
Now the story begins, so I'll go for now, goodbye,

Kid: No, I'm not tired, all I want is a lot of candy,
And mom, you're a liar, you said I could stay up and watch Handy Manny,
I want to play with toys, but not with her,
She's mean and annoys and ruffles the fur,
Of my teddy bear, I hate her,

Mom: But she's your sister,

Kid: I don't care,

Dad: Hey, can I barge in for a minute and just say...,

Kid: No, get the **** out or you're gonna get it,

Dad: Okay,

Mom: I said you have to go to sleep or get along with your sister and play,
I really don't want it to be one of those type of days,

Kid: What?, the days where you and dad fight,
About gays and whether or not they have rights,
And other stupid **** that shouldn't cross your mind,
But I'm just a kid in my room so whatever, it's fine,

Mom: I'm not going to allow this type of language,

Kid: But you allow dad to bang some other *****,

Mom: How the hell do you know what's going on in our lives?,

Kid: Your words hurt my sister, apparently they're like knives,
I don't care none though, I like the fighting yo,
Almost as much as the guy you ****, what's his name again, oh yeah, it's Joe,
And he gets stuck in you every night and he's tamed you,
Is that why dad sleeps in the basement,
And why did you punch dad, you gave him a face dent,
It leaked blood for hours,
Joe's a good replacement,

Mom: He's not a...,

Kid: Sure he is,
He even has kids,
They are probably better than my sister,
We could replace her too, I wouldn't miss her,
Let's **** em' both, cut em' up, and hide them in bags,
Put em' in the shed and clean the ****** mess with some rags,
I've planned this out before,
I've thought it out a thousand times,
I might be in love with gore,
And also speaking in rhymes,
I know I'm only eight but I've slobbed a ****,
And rode a rod like...,

Mom: OH MY GOD!,

Kid: Oh, is this jealousy I'm starting to see,
I'm getting more **** than you, yeah, go me,
It's easy to trick kids into the game,
They're all young so it's kind of lame,
But I say my mouths a door and your *** ***'s the key,
And if you're lucky I'll let you put the key where your mommy had you,
But hold up, are you a Jew,
Cause I can't **** them,
I'm against them,
Because I'm against people with abnormally large body parts,

Mom: Can we finish this story?,

Kid: I've barely begun to start,

Dad: I've heard everything and I'm very disappointed,

Kid: I know right, moms rude and pointless,
Let's **** her,

Narrator: So that's what they did,
They stabbed her to death,
And when Joe came home,
He met his last breath,
The daughter and father hid them in the shed,
Lived as murderers from this point till' they were dead.
Expelling the ****** up parts of me. I don't think I'm even close to reaching my full potential yet...
Sketcher Nov 2018
I've been passionate about our intimate sessions,
But you have been the catalyst to my depression,
Cause I was inadequate and you were my obsession,
You came to my door and opened without knocking,
There appeared a ***** that wouldn't stop talking,
I supplied a heart but my love you were robbing,
So get the **** out and drink your beer quicker,
Nobody wants your Rainier or your hard liquor,
Rot away faster than a queer in Iraq,
And by the way *****, don't ever come back.
ugh.... it takes too long to forget....................................................
Sketcher Nov 2018
I'm shaking with fear and I want to ****,
That unicorn I see that has all my pills,
Those pills that give me all the nice thrills,
From codeine to NyQuil to Advil,
People stare at me and shake and shiver,
Pulling out a knife while my hands quiver,
Stab it into some small child's liver,
Today I'm a mailman, a death deliverer,
That child's name was Jon,
I killed him while he was mowing a lawn,
He was Mexican and trying to get paid,
I guess I had to come around and make his day,
I said, "Yeet!" as I threw the kids body,
Down into the river and then I yelled, "Gotee!",
I'll feast on the rest of the child's flesh,
Jon was a nice meal, probably the best,
I didn't find my pills in Mr. Jon the unicorn,
I guess his mom gave birth to a ***** that was born,
Without the pill portal that he should've had,
Their family is terrible, all members must be bad,
Now I don't have my pills and I've just had a meal,
I guess the kids meat was a good enough appeal.
Two psychopaths made this poem.
Sketcher Nov 2018
Once upon a time, there were three young children,
They grew up rather quickly,
They grew up in the same apartment building,
Their names were Jon, Ted, and Mickey,
Jon was a jolly **** that got all the women,
Rarely stuck with one cause they were ******,
Always doing dumb ****, in and out of prison,
Bodies in rivers and pills in drawers,
Tod was a simple man with a nice job,
Looking for a nice and simple woman,
Repetitive days make him bored and sob,
Its hard living on in crowded Brooklyn,
Mickey was a very lovely lady,
Letting the breeze of life pull her,
Pulled to strong men and ready for mating,
With menial men or skillful sirs,
One day Jon was drinking at the towns bar,
When out the corner of his eye,
He saw a girl stepping into a nice car,
So he quickly ran out to say, "Hi.",
This girl was Mickey and she was very rich,
And she was also quite attractive,
Jon tripped and yelled, "*******!",
Slipped on a pebble while distracted,
Right in front of the lovely lad, Mickey,
When Jon fell, he ended up landing,
In his own blood that was red and sticky,
His belt strapped knife was death demanding,
The pebble was stained red with rancid blood,
And it tumbled to a nearby drain,
Swept through sewers fast cause a recent flood,
And many stormy days filled with rain,
Somehow the pebble found itself on land,
Eight days after the event,
In a gazebo, you could see it stand,
Next to Jon and Mickey on cement,
They were getting married this day, it's grand,
And the nice red pebble was there to watch,
Resting in the prongs of a wedding band,
The center stone that was sewer dislodged,
From blood covered to a beautiful jewel,
That was nicely set in the ring,
Life abandons all the laws and the rules,
Of reality and nothing.
A nice little story about a pebble.
Sketcher Nov 2018
I will contemplate my boredom today, it's terrible,
I must dedicate my actions to something ethical,
So I'll go agitate all the photo chemicals,
It won't automate, it's not a technical miracle,
I will be the chaser of an adventure to set out,
To steal a stack of photo paper someone had left out,
Took it from "The Enticing Taylor", stole his photo clout,
I'm no hater but you better remember to take out,
Your **** when you are done in the dark room...
I might be a hater... but not really...
Sketcher Nov 2018
I hate to wake up to eight ton weights,
A chest plate pressed up against my face,
Eyes dart and heart race like you've been chased,
For days in a gaze that shows your amazed,
Deemed this was depression detaining me,
Deliberately dozing to escape memory,
But right off the bat it's a panic attack,
Maturity rewinds and minds all off track,
Rational depersonalization,
Constant nauseous dizzying rotation,
Locate lower lacerations that bled,
Flop to the floor and felicitations, you're dead.
An aubade about the struggle.
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