Back in the 90's, I had a hobby of following my friends around at clubs and making them write bad poetry for me. The word poetry was used very loosely. Well, completely incorrectly would be a better term since it was also used for articles, completely fabricated self-help columns and random complete and utter nonsense.
These are the results of those (often drunken) ramblings.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Stems of love

By Nancy

The flowers you bought for me died

I never saw them alive

I was too sick to see them

When they were alive

So you saved them for me to see

A week later I came to visit

And you gave me these stems

You call them stems of love

What are you, a psycho?

What kind of sick bastard

Gives their lover dead moldy roses?

Why couldn’t you just throw them away

And buy me more?

Or are you also cheap?

You cheap psycho bastard!

You could have thrown them away

And I would have never

Known they existed!

But nooooooo!

You had to let me know

The truth about you

And your fucking dead roses.

I've always been particularly proud of my artwork on this poem. Probably looked better than those roses that so angered Nancy.

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