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Is it absolutely necessary to greet someone in person and in writing? What, if any, are the practical benefits of a traditional greeting? And who should be the first one to say a greeting to someone?
Yippie ki yay ki yo, Singin along my bro. Yippie ki yay ki ya, Playin in the playa. Yippie ki yay yahe, Down the slope on ski. Yippie ki yay Yamee, Dancin with a shimmy.
Beyond the melting snow, I flee to stand atop the rock, somehow seeking a balm. Without a thought, still hope, a cause or plan, I venture out each day, alone for calm. When I was younger than today, my wit
Words wired words weird words warded words worried words, Worlds wrought with words, walled with words, wrecked with words, Wily writers work with words which welcome wrangling whilst wakening weakness,
Fiddle-dee, Fiddle-ro, Do you know, What is so? Fiddle-fi, Fiddle-fat, I am who's known, As the rhyming cat. Fiddle-fum, Fiddle-rum,
What walls of welfare take labor into interests that shine for example the reinforced radical hooks never take hold power or policy shake stupid and crazy name a price on hipness
The green glass doorThe double letter dilemmaKeeping logic livelyLooking less appealing each dayRealizing reality is really dullWe should instead kill senseAnd hold on to lost letters
I couldn't think of anything I hated more than Nihilism. And Nihilists. And anything that has anything to do with Nihilism. I hated it. It's starting to make sense, though.
Popeyes or Five guys? Either way, I'm getting my cajun fries. Feel free to attempt to stop me. For that is an impossibility. Have a nice day!
Oh, weeping daffodil, why do I cry, A great pouring rain, but I can't bring you life? Oh, mountain high, why do I climb, If only to find higher mountains behind?
A camelopard gravid with sensuous tastes Turned to an emmet for a quiff of complaint “Do you enjoy your provender raw or percoct?” Which led to a moment of formicine shock The camelopard in sooth was arrantly hurt
There are times Times of happiness and times of joy. Moments that I feel like the sun. But you can't look at the sun. The sun It shines so endlessly, affecting everyone it touches
The Checkpoint.. There is a point Where impunity is cheap, Just that point where asylum is not in check, Our uniformed gods are now in chess, Ready to launch at you as pawn.
The stars are filled with the light of the world; Each memory, Each daydream, Every encapsulation of the universe. Illuminating the darkness all around, Encompassing the beauty of a treacherous sea of being.
I cut off my tongue for you - You said you loved my words, Had I a better thing to do?
I sit in a broken glass table Try to take my mind off all my troubles These words spill out so easy I can’t believe it. Another book, Another pen Another masterpiece Unfinished,
I promise you I will write it, when I am alone, it pours out. I can't write anything happy, yet happy is how I feel. Its alway sunny in philledelphia, it's not art, just words I'm throwing out. I got a message I cannot read, I got a message I
Nam Myo Ho Ren Ge Kyo.
Sometimes there comes upon me The desire to spill words from my lips An aching and a sad debating for myself To be heard. I want you to know that I try my very best To use "Proper grammar,
The moon beams through a sliver in the clouds,reminding me of the light in your eyesYou are the greatest affliction.
You know I wrote a whole poem not more than two seconds ago what a shame I let it go i wish I could rewrite it
Rambling, brambling, Preambling and meandering The blush rises through sunrise Diamonds flow like UFO beams on Shining luminescent rabbits. Shush. Can you hear that?
When I was eleven, I knew what I was going to do and how I was going to get there. I wrote because the world looked better through my eyes.
College is very scary. Taking the ACT and the SAT can be a pain.
Butterfly my Butterfly Divine as my eyes Calm as my spirit
Soul and Rip it up Playing with words Pleasurable arrangement Perfect asymmetrical Syllables Nonmusical New modern Poetry bullshit
or ran the me website found are that their pavement consciously drew ravenously myself notepad with syringe will very its even are me whore hung gold-tipped which if jeans preserved the are bought to saw
I write because I need the money.
Lately I’m beginning to think that all my ideas are going down the drain of a sink Who’da think that I’m on the brink of losing my mind, spilling my drink and might have to visit the shrink
The Butterflies in her stomach emerged as sense- less words from her lips
Down, down, down, the rain pours down Her majesty, the sky, puts on her dull gray gown Thunder, the flirt, tests his highness’s will
I don't believe in love. Its fairytale nonsense. A woman can be a dove. One without a conscience. It isn't real and never will be. Because men steal and no one's ever free to do what they want.
Sacrifice a pleasant morning For a fucked up night? I think no but it's nice to have your share of afternoon delights strictly Starland- I don't get the concept of
I am thinking thoughts, and thoughts are thinking me. Dreams are drawing lots, to which one it will be. Be it will, make what you may, and I will follow through. Come the ill, or Death's game play,