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About Literature / Artist maxwell snortUnknown Groups :iconthewriteplace: TheWritePlace
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Literature
7-5-19
god
just delete me
eclipse cries out in it's darkness
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Literature
2-14-19
ready to kill ready to cry
as dictated in this life of
abomination of opinions
yet we follow blind hell
to deserved destruction
for the people no solace
to us for us in our name
of god please stop your
loveless attacks in your
malignant maliciousness
in our name you pretend
self-serving your greedy
little name you our little
contemptuous bastard
divisive derision spews
out of you and infects
the weak the ignorant
the thoughtless army
flesh trusting but you
conceit beyond narcissus
contemptible beyond disgust
disgraceful beyond shame
deceitful beyond fact
greed beyond avarice
pride before the fall
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Literature
Night time on Lake Blearyeye
Night time on Lake Blearyeye and the frogs are all a-courtin'. I can hear the deepest voice over to my right, calling out he is available, but to the left there is a challenger. Love is in the air, sounding out, shaking it.
This world of sad voyeurism is all that remains me. My love is gone. She has fallen ill.
The mosquitoes swarming played little part in her sickness. They mostly keep to themselves, away from the citronella, drawn to the ultraviolet light and the pheromones underneath, promising a good time to them; away from the frogs. Sadly all that awaits them is the electrified ZAP across the yard, burning off their wings. They, too, will have a night without love.
My love was radiant in the dim light. Her gone from me now leaves only this ennui, unrequited as we were. Tragedy that she has fallen so, become so distant, so silent.
An owl calls out. It cannot see, but hearing serves it well. A flutter of feathers and a field mouse, somewhere, will sleep alone.
Crickets begin. Usual
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maxwell snort
Artist | Literature
Disclaimer: I am autistic. What I create is typical of me. I do not try to be different, nor do I try to conform.

feel free to comment, and I will try to answer, but do not try what you see at home. It'll leave a mark and may stain the carpet. Your Mileage May Vary. and yes; that's a mockingbird in a bell jar. I prefer Sylvia Plath to Harper Lee.
Interests
ok. I've had it. I finally broke through what was holding me in a block.

it's the hate speech around this place. I believe that much of the silence he have around here lately has simply been cause by one or 2 people trying to get their Asshole Merit Badges (they exist) by silencing an entire community of writers through bullying and scare tactics.

time to man up. bring it; wannabe's. trump sucks putin's ass. I agree with all the things currently being done by the Democratic party to counter "what's-his-name's" attempts to take over the world, or whatever other delusions of grandeur the impotent little dick-head has.

and, this is also a call for everyone else to start speaking up again. 

strong poem to follow
  • Listening to: the telephone
  • Reading: the tiny screen on my cell phone
  • Watching: xlntwtch squirm over the question "how"
  • Playing: the good songs on repeat
  • Eating: low carbohydrate
  • Drinking: artificial lemonade

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