We are just pawns in a game of chess. We've all been left in an Eton Mess.
But daddy what? This one's got me on the spot But daddy why? I long for the days when you just cried. But daddy how? Your up to 300 questions now But daddy when? You just keep asking again and again But daddy who? The answer me, always me.
When the clarity of youth has faded and left you with a world view smeared in shades of grey You still carry the same values But a fear of loss Has obscured them with too many coats of gloss
(image from this article about slacktivism)
There's a harsh beauty in her her fairer sister can never hope to possess. It can't be replicated only worn in over time like a fine patina Stews of rich red wine with musky herbs of depth and desire added slowly over time A beauty that creeps on you like a dreich November fog Settling the silence of a soft Sunday lie in. Tea, toast and icy cuddles
(image by dark777fairy)
No sense of right or wrong
No concept of race
No beliefs of any kind
No team or tribe
No favourite colour (mine is green)
No spelling for colo(u)r
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)