Your demons don’t play well with mine,
They bite and they bruise and entwine.
Yours weaponize tears,
Mine whisper, come near.
The chaos is purely divine.

Yours gasp for the rush of cool air,
Mine drown in your scent, flesh, and stare.
Yours vanish like shame;
Mine burn all the same,
Still lit by the hunger we bear.

We drift toward escape, dark and slow,
They bloom with our secrets and grow.
Yours pull at my seams;
Mine knot in your dreams.
A dance only demons could know.

A snowman stood tall in the yard,
His scarf and his hat were both starred,
The children would play,
On that cold, festive day,
As Christmas arrived unbarred

The carolers sang with delight,
Their voices rang out through the night,
With joy in the air,
And warmth everywhere,
It was truly a magical sight.

The trees sparkled under the glow,
The world wrapped in winter’s soft snow,
The kids ran and cheered,
The season appeared,
And the fire in the hearth burned low.

But the sun rose more sharply each day,
The cold slowly started to sway,
He felt in his frame,
A loss he could name,
As the chill slipped away with the gray.

He knew his time was nearly through,
As the world changed from white to blue,
With a soft, final sigh,
He whispered, “Goodbye,”
And accepted the warm winds that grew.

Write a limerick with antechamber
Came the dare from a girl I adore
It is sloppy at best
And a quite sober jest
But at least it can't be any lamer

There once was a munchkin from Oz
Named Phineas Entwhistle Boz:
     The Lollipop Guild
     Had Phineas killed:
Their reason, they said, was becoz.

There once was a bigfoot whose feet
Were shamefully small and petite,
     So he wore some big shoes,
     But the obvious ruse
Was a silly attempt at deceit.

There once was a man on the moon
Who'd wake in the moon's afternoon,
     Then eat a whole moon box
     Of Malt-O-Meal's "Moon Rocks"
With milk and a runcible spoon.

If buses rattle over streets
At least you jounce on comfy seats.  
Imagine a divan
Made from a frying pan
Or griddles cushioned by felt sheets.