My Fat Ass: *looks At The Nutrition Label*

I suck at rhymes but here it is...

I don't know when, but at a later date.

There won't be any more cookies to bake.

No love to make,

No earth to quake,

No hands to shake,

And no lives to take.

When that day comes, I hope to find.

A larger species of Clementine?

Or many more words without a rhyme?

Or climb-ier vines,

Or softer crimes,

Or smellier pines,

With straighter lines.

But until then it's up to you,

To find many more lines that rhyme with blue.

Find prettier views,

Find me lefty-er shoes,

And truer trues that speak just for vous.

Ah! But here I am taking all the

S P A C E,

And haven't left you a chance to grace,

This page with words you want to create.

Careful now it's not a race.

There isn't any first to place,

Only yummier taste,

Only bass-ier bass,

Only ever yourself,

No rules to place.

But before I do,

I realize-es,

I've gone and wrote this on

Electronic devices!

I hope this version

Lives to suffice-es!

Or will it be gone and sacrifices?!

I should have taken other advices!

Been nice-ier nices!

Tried creamier ices!

Tried dating girls with a little more spices!

Title: All that you love will be carried away.

Artist: Local Idiot (self)

I loved how the universe manifested itself as her. And for that brief moment in billions of years, I was there for it.

Redux the Revenge.

Coffee thought.

Why aren't cookies called, Bakies? You don't cook them, you bake them.

Six Word Story

Last one alive, closes the door.

The stains of human history

can never be erased,

only masked over until tolerable.

I only will love you - to the end of your lips.

And immediately stop - right after this kiss.

We never had a song together, but we sure as hell had a life together.