I'm a sadist, guilt and remorse evadist
put my dark twist, on the folk
down in their gravies
resurrect em, clambering
shackled remains,
liberate thee,
run free in my domain.
De lib er ately
gliding, I'm death's author
and the last note
in the cacophony slaughter.
I'm the angel of death
and as you draw your last breath
know that I'm trying my best
to compensate for this theft
with more thieving, your grieving's
making my eyes sting
no reprieve in
believing, I'm only deceiving
in the heart of your very own body and mind
an inner evil, its seething
you know you can't hide
so break down and surrender
call on your defenders
and when the heavens aren't parted
the party gets started
there's no angel, descending
smiting at will
just my corpses, feasting
I'll send you the bill.

Fried Chicken
An artist with skills quite prolific,
Found fried chicken to be soporific.
He’d sketch with great flair,
Then fall off his chair,
Dreaming of drumsticks, terrific.

Colour
A painter with hues he found drab,
mixed colour in the shell of a crab.
He’d mix with a grin,
Shades of cerulean,
And pretended it came from the lab.

Blue hue
A gardener who brewed his own ***,
drank too much and found his face numb.
he hadn't a clue,
why he turned a blue hue,
but it contrasted with his green thumb.

Diet
A salesman with charm and a grin
Sold a cure to make me look thin
"Try it today, keep flab far away"
But my scales are not taken in!

You are my prime,
Unique, indivisible even unconventional
mostly odd.
Sometimes irrational
Yet composite and complex
Never improper!
You are my constant.
A value unchangeable.
Uniform, and consistent.
Never have I found you average
Or mean.

You know what they say about men with big feet –
“the socks don’t fit so easily on the first try”
And by the series of events, the more you get to
know someone; the easier it is to relax together –
"Netflix and chill"

But a job not done so well has an obvious result –
“hit it, and quit it”
A few men put up so well with a woman’s
whole bag of *******; lets just blame –
“that good junk in the trunk”

Find someone to rest your worries on –
“some good pillow talk”
Have a kick out of extracurricular activities –
“with an *** to boot, in your boot knocking”

Still stand on your standards, but avoid living
on double standards – not everything works
so well with their – “double meanings”

A blue cat with a blue hat,
named Pattrick, or Pat,
Comes closer to a white rat,
on his back, gives a pat,
And asks, "Oh, Mr Rat!,
"I am Mr Pat, the cat,
Write your name on my hat,"
Rat, scared and fat,
Knows can't run a bat,
Says, " 'I am the father of Pat",
Blue Pat, now a red cat,
Thunders," What you say, rat?"
Rat says, "My daughter is Pat,
Patricia is a white furry rat",
Squeaking in front of cat,
"Tell me your name, stupid rat",
Says now a di-coloured Pat,
Rat says, "I am Pat, the rat,"
"No! I am Pat, the cat,"
"Yes, and I am Pat the rat",
"Stop messing, you stupid Pat,"
"Yes, Pat is stupid and fat,"
Now, Pat had a smoking hat,
Pat hurls so hard to small Pat,
Pat jumps side to his hole of rat,
From inside, comes shout of Pat,
"Hey, Pat the cat, I am Pat the rat",
"And Pat the cat, is stupid and Fat,"
Pat the cat, removes his blue hat,
A pile of its pieces, on them he sat,
Sits there Pat, till comes out Pat.

"Let’s circle back,” said the square to a circle of friends –
a bit offensive, when you tell two skeletons to have
some skin in the game – that’s your own bone to pick.

But tell me, what’s a bed of roses without a sheet; the
two get tangled in the sheets when they’ve tied the knot.
But what really trips me up is, "falling head over heels,"
I’ve got two left feet, so how badly will this affect me?

Cliché much…

Yes, I do say – when I’m bit under the weather of a Perfect
storm; but even as the apple doesn't fall far from the tree,
someone picking out your own pride in your children, is
low-hanging fruit. And how long it takes you to understand
my humour; others would name the seconds it takes them to
get my jokes, in the Nick of time.

I’ve given these cliches their love.

High, high, high
Up in the southern sky
On cloud nine
My penthouse looks divine

Low, low, below
I see them moving slow
Lesser mortals, lowlives:
A Dog Civilization thrives

They can’t move fast
For they aren’t destined to last
They bark and they fight
Eat, **** and mate day and night

In houses and on streets
They live with whosoever greets
And though they stink
They claim they can think

Now from my penthouse I see
Another penthouse way above me
From there on my foot, a bone fell
Enchanted, I started wagging my tail.

On Monday, Arthur, wooden sword in hand,
  defeats the roses in their crimson bed.
On Tuesday, Arthur makes his bravest stand,
  against the garden pond, with doughty Fred.
On Wednesday, Arthur leads his fearless band
  through snow; the flashing red - a racing sled.
On Thursday, Arthur – secret agent, creeps
    around the lair. On Friday, done, he sleeps.

On weekends, Arthur’s with his dad all day;
    who takes his son to captain England’s team:
when dazzling Arthur makes the winning play
    they celebrate with strawberries and cream.
On Sunday Arthur goes to church to pray
    then polishes his sword to make it gleam.
On Sunday night the world is right and so
    this King prepares to fight his Monday foe.

I knew it was late for me when a girl asked me to do
something romantic for her, and I suggested we play
checkers - and if she beat me, I'd know she made
the draft.🤭🤭🤣🤣🤣