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This poem contains content which some readers may find disturbing.
It is unsuitable for children or anyone who is easily offended.

I am over 18 years old, I have been warned and I still want to read this poem.
I don't want to read this type of content, take me back to the previous page.

Those drug-imbued, timidity free sensational bitches...

I'll get onto them later,
after I have bludgeoned you with some of my words
straining, grasping, at the right blasted forceful imagery
that conveys myself
and not some saccharine simpering sibilance
always one apology away from an extended metaphor
that muddies the water and gives no clear picture.

But even these faulty words dance around the damn thing:
the direct path never mine to take
those drug-imbued, timidity free sensational bitches
(bitches as a proud badge of steel wills, not of derogatory)
who write books of poems with more spine than I;
having tasted deep from the cup of life
and then spat in life's eye when it tried to cop a feel.

As I wander about in circles in my head
always two procrastinations from the magnum opus
overthinking and over-imaging too much
with little to show for it except worlds in my head.
But then that may be because I am English:
restraint is in our nature even if restraint is unnatural,
a façade of gentle summer breezes
as spring thunderstorms of confliction
and cold soul-chilling winter woes
play out under our skin,
if only to keep calm and carry on
because life did not give us another person to scream at
and collapse our walls and selves onto.

All because I am over 26,
a concrete piece of information: so rare of me,
and have not yet had a proper job
- maybe being a writer writing from a strange direction is my fate,
and have not yet even been loved.
Oh, I have loved: teenage fondness and infatuation in retrospect
and the right words of love, but from the wrong person
a guy, it was a guy alright,
but I have not yet had the joy of being in love
or better yet to sate my desires and frustration,
been in some girl and made love to her;
much as my appetite lusts after those pussy possessors
whose writing I greatly admire
but would not give two seconds for a weak mewling little shit.

So I am not always a gentleman,
as I can cuss and swear with sound and fury
about things I am passionate about,
as the world still turns
dragging its shadow side,
even though I am utterly lost
and sat still in a corner raging at oblivion
if only to turn away from the inevitable darkness
as I create variable dream of daftness
in the hopes they will win out in the end.
Written by Viddax (Lord Viddax)
Author's Note
If you want to read a poem greater than this garbled mess than head over to which inspired the title.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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crimsin lepperochan ElrondSirfalas Tallen
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