No morals
No sense of right or wrong
No concept of race
No religion
No beliefs of any kind
No team or tribe
No favourite colour (mine is green)
No spelling for colo(u)r
No love
No hate
No pride
No prejudice
No expectations or aspirations
Just life for the living.
No beer, no fun No wine, no puns No whisky, no chatter No Vodka, no laughter No Bourbon, no pranks No Gin, (I never really liked gin) Never was a one drink boy Giving but never feeling joy
(image credit chaosrenzo)
Try to wear your own words Not mine But if you need some help Borrow mine for a time Words are like underpants You can wear another's But it won't feel right It is always better to wear your own or go commando.
(image by stradesgaybitch)
Poetry doesn't have to rhyme At least not all the time It's not a crim--inal offence.
Image by (angelobscura)
Ha ha the jokes on you Got a young man's hat But an old man's shoes You occasionally orbit into style Laika mummified fashionphyle
(Image by brokenchair)
The peacock of the rodent world Your basically a well dressed rat With the poise of a circus acrobat.
(image credit pxieplayland)
Blackening sky that smears my eye Hope of sun that still might come Puddles tearing at my tyres Cockerel spins in the old church spire Indian summer hopes migrating In the cupboard the wellies waiting for when the proper winter rain permeates the window panes
(image by thepromptcorruption)
Accidental Poet 