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Array ( [sid] => 60153 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Title of Poem [time] => 2004-08-14 22:20:15 [hometext] => Please comment... [bodytext] => I dont know why Im living.
I dont know what I see.
I am the shame and guilt of humanity.
My heart holds no love.
My mind knows no past.
My thoughts hold no future.
My words never last.
My evils overpower all the good in my vein.
Replay my life;
its all so insane.
Everyones depressed.
Life is such a whore.
Walk around in missery.
Until you bare no more.
Thats the way it goes.
Its never ganna change.
Thats why its gone.
God can take the blame.. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 170 [topic] => 36 [informant] => god-hates-me [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Suicide )

Title of Poem

Contributed by god-hates-me on Saturday, 14th August 2004 @ 10:20:15 PM in AEST
Topic: Suicide

I dont know why Im living.
I dont know what I see.
I am the shame and guilt of humanity.
My heart holds no love.
My mind knows no past.
My thoughts hold no future.
My words never last.
My evils overpower all the good in my vein.
Replay my life;
its all so insane.
Everyones depressed.
Life is such a whore.
Walk around in missery.
Until you bare no more.
Thats the way it goes.
Its never ganna change.
Thats why its gone.
God can take the blame..

Copyright © god-hates-me ... [ 2004-08-14 22:20:15]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: Title of Poem (User Rating: 1 )
by AcrosticCacophany on Sunday, 15th August 2004 @ 02:55:58 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

The mundane rhyme and restless rhythm of this poem make it sound like it's pieced together from Dr. Seuss' Green Eggs and Ham. But that would be insulting the great Seuss, so I'll not compare children's books with something that looks more like the stuff scraped off of the bottom of my shoe.

To be specific, this poem is a hodgpodge puddle of terminally typical tears, soiled with spelling errors and tainted with rabid rhyme schemes--slant, imperfect, and... nonexistent, I might suggest. Others have compared life to various expletives, and all feel here is that amazing sensation of deja vu--actually, nausea. To be holistic, it's borderline plagiarism of everything every other dejected juvenile enjoys depicting.

There are more things to life than pain. And there are definitely more things to write about than yourself. Good day.

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