So in your honest opinion

what is this poem about?



The metallic horse spoke to me.

It whirred that muddy voice in my mind. A rotating sound that chimed every three seconds. Thick and wrapping those tendrils around my brain I stood no chance against the beasts allure.

It culled my hunger and whispered naughty secrets in my ear.

It whimpered a monotone challenge to the earth and pleaded with me to except. My bleeding heart opened up to the bleating calls of powerless beast. It pounded the cracked earth and I wished to grasp it.

Lying on its side rumbling into the dirt stained grass, the beast offered hope. It was a magical wish that finally came true. It was a smooth as leather and coarse as sand. It was as beautiful as the asphalt.

The most beautiful thing about was the way it just lay there with the glassy eye that stared up and me.

Begging me. Taunting me. Loving me.

Even if the blood burned down my throat like hot whiskey and proceeded to rise in my stomach like hot ash. Even if the rotating eyes spun endlessly in a mesmerizing dance. Even if that last dance was painful enough for a life time.

The hills we would have ridden would be as ugly and fierce as we wanted.

The blacked trail we would have left itched path in my brain. The ruby words etched into the side. The rotating keys rich with fire. The red burn marks on my skin, the bite marks of the road.

I was not made for it though. Our red heart keychains did not match. The beast sparked as it began to roar.

The sound ripped into my chest. It was the dying battle cry of our meeting. I walked away leaving the unliving monster to a fate of hellfire. Black. Damned. Hellfire.

I was thrown from the motorcycle as the front wheel popped. My body skittered under a truck which claimed my head and I died.

Sounds like having sex with a mechanical horse.

CollaWars wrote:

Sounds like having sex with a mechanical horse.

This.

That poem is way to advanced for you meat locker. I never want you to speak again.

It's a tale about a lonely man and the girl he works with who won't talk to him. Certainly.

Ulyaoth wrote:

It's a tale about a lonely man and the girl he works with who won't talk to him. Certainly.

Dear Uly,

Shut the hell up.

Sent with Love, Jetbounty/Gaming Misfit

Jetbounty wrote:

Dear Uly,

Shut the hell up.

Sent with Love, Jetbounty/Gaming Misfit

No...

Yoclema wrote:

That poem is way to advanced for you meat locker. I never want you to speak again.

I am a caged animal who has been repeatedly forced into a corner. In that small corner where I am surrounded by hostile shadows, I revive my religious side. It’s like a holy fire that burns only me and causes everyone else to think I am crazy. It’s hard to explain it since it is only revived under extreme frustration and anger when I am excluded from just being considered normal.

I am a quilt sewn together from a thousand different fabrics known as Irish, German, Danish, Catholic, Psyhco, Movie, Love, Hate, Boy Scout, and more. They were twisted together into a rag doll creation that rose from the laboratory table and stitched itself to life.

I am music video slashed together from pirated footage and a stolen song, beating myself to Ana Ng. I live on youtube where people post comments discussing how this has been done before and so and so’s version was much better. People dislike me and it hurts my feelings.

I am a box beaten and wet lying down on the sidewalk where they left me after they moved on. Bird’s tear at my skin and rat’s make nests with my brains. I feel lonely and cold while the world continual turns from fall to winter and maybe I’ll see spring.

I am a pair of old torn blue jeans sitting in the back of a closet where I was left one summer with a chocolate cake stain and a folded ten dollar bill in my pocket. I don’t feel angry but I wish to see the sunshine.

I am a lost cat strapped down to a high school biology table where they cut me open and stare at my organs. They prod around in my belly to see what I ate and find half digested rats and birds along with dirt and string. I am cold very cold as they put me in a bag and toss me in a trashcan.

I am a word on a piece of paper that floats through a room and lands on a table where I am crumpled and thrown in the trash without ever being looked at. I sit beneath a thrown out box of moldy graham crackers and discarded egg shells. Eventually I will be moved to a landfill where I will sit beneath an old tv and a new skateboard that was run over by a dwi.

I am an old cabbage that was grown by a proud second grader and later discarded by his mother who knew no recipes for the vegetable. She didn’t know I was the only one of my group to survive and that made her child very proud. She didn’t he fought to take my home so he could share me with his family she didn’t know or she didn’t care.

I am all there ever was and all there ever will be. I am the word, the future, the past. This has all happened before and will all happen again. So say I.

Meatlocker wrote:

Yoclema wrote:

That poem is way to advanced for you meat locker. I never want you to speak again.

Am I who?

I am a caged animal who has been repeatedly forced into a corner. In that small corner where I am surrounded by hostile shadows, I revive my religious side. It’s like a holy fire that burns only me and causes everyone else to think I am crazy. It’s hard to explain it since it is only revived under extreme frustration and anger when I am excluded from just being considered normal.

I am a quilt sewn together from a thousand different fabrics known as Irish, German, Danish, Catholic, Psyhco, Movie, Love, Hate, Boy Scout, and more. They were twisted together into a rag doll creation that rose from the laboratory table and stitched itself to life.

I am music video slashed together from pirated footage and a stolen song, beating myself to Ana Ng. I live on youtube where people post comments discussing how this has been done before and so and so’s version was much better. People dislike me and it hurts my feelings.

I am a box beaten and wet lying down on the sidewalk where they left me after they moved on. Bird’s tear at my skin and rat’s make nests with my brains. I feel lonely and cold while the world continual turns from fall to winter and maybe I’ll see spring.

I am a pair of old torn blue jeans sitting in the back of a closet where I was left one summer with a chocolate cake stain and a folded ten dollar bill in my pocket. I don’t feel angry but I wish to see the sunshine.

I am a lost cat strapped down to a high school biology table where they cut me open and stare at my organs. They prod around in my belly to see what I ate and find half digested rats and birds along with dirt and string. I am cold very cold as they put me in a bag and toss me in a trashcan.

I am a word on a piece of paper that floats through a room and lands on a table where I am crumpled and thrown in the trash without ever being looked at. I sit beneath a thrown out box of moldy graham crackers and discarded egg shells. Eventually I will be moved to a landfill where I will sit beneath an old tv and a new skateboard that was run over by a dwi.

I am an old cabbage that was grown by a proud second grader and later discarded by his mother who knew no recipes for the vegetable. She didn’t know I was the only one of my group to survive and that made her child very proud. She didn’t he fought to take my home so he could share me with his family she didn’t know or she didn’t care.

I am all there ever was and all there ever will be. I am the word, the future, the past. This has all happened before and will all happen again. So say I.

Sounds like Uly...

Matieu wrote:

Meatlocker wrote:

Yoclema wrote:

That poem is way to advanced for you meat locker. I never want you to speak again.

Am I who?

I am a caged animal who has been repeatedly forced into a corner. In that small corner where I am surrounded by hostile shadows, I revive my religious side. It’s like a holy fire that burns only me and causes everyone else to think I am crazy. It’s hard to explain it since it is only revived under extreme frustration and anger when I am excluded from just being considered normal.

I am a quilt sewn together from a thousand different fabrics known as Irish, German, Danish, Catholic, Psyhco, Movie, Love, Hate, Boy Scout, and more. They were twisted together into a rag doll creation that rose from the laboratory table and stitched itself to life.

I am music video slashed together from pirated footage and a stolen song, beating myself to Ana Ng. I live on youtube where people post comments discussing how this has been done before and so and so’s version was much better. People dislike me and it hurts my feelings.

I am a box beaten and wet lying down on the sidewalk where they left me after they moved on. Bird’s tear at my skin and rat’s make nests with my brains. I feel lonely and cold while the world continual turns from fall to winter and maybe I’ll see spring.

I am a pair of old torn blue jeans sitting in the back of a closet where I was left one summer with a chocolate cake stain and a folded ten dollar bill in my pocket. I don’t feel angry but I wish to see the sunshine.

I am a lost cat strapped down to a high school biology table where they cut me open and stare at my organs. They prod around in my belly to see what I ate and find half digested rats and birds along with dirt and string. I am cold very cold as they put me in a bag and toss me in a trashcan.

I am a word on a piece of paper that floats through a room and lands on a table where I am crumpled and thrown in the trash without ever being looked at. I sit beneath a thrown out box of moldy graham crackers and discarded egg shells. Eventually I will be moved to a landfill where I will sit beneath an old tv and a new skateboard that was run over by a dwi.

I am an old cabbage that was grown by a proud second grader and later discarded by his mother who knew no recipes for the vegetable. She didn’t know I was the only one of my group to survive and that made her child very proud. She didn’t he fought to take my home so he could share me with his family she didn’t know or she didn’t care.

I am all there ever was and all there ever will be. I am the word, the future, the past. This has all happened before and will all happen again. So say I.

Sounds like Uly...

That's...actually realistically scary.

Meatlocker wrote:

Jetbounty wrote:

Matieu wrote:

Sounds like Uly...

That's...actually realistically scary.

In what way?

He's got a point. Just read it.

Yoclema wrote:

That poem is way to advanced for you meat locker. I never want you to speak again.

I would roll the 8D on this..

Scott wrote:

Yoclema wrote:

That poem is way to advanced for you meat locker. I never want you to speak again.

I would roll the 8D on this..

Meatlocker wrote:

Scott wrote:

Yoclema wrote:

That poem is way to advanced for you meat locker. I never want you to speak again.

I would roll the 8D on this..

You still have a 1/8th chance... relax...

Scott wrote:

Meatlocker wrote:

Scott wrote:

I would roll the 8D on this..

You still have a 1/8th chance... relax...

Ulyaoth wrote:

Jetbounty wrote:

Dear Uly,

Shut the hell up.

Sent with Love, Jetbounty/Gaming Misfit

No...

/Causa