Lennon lied; Love is not all you need.
Of the immortal elements, Time is of a higher creed.
This looks like the beginning of a poetic spree. This is not just a foray. Be forewarned, you are at the gates to obsession.
God. Medication seems to be required.
I am NOT a poet, this sudden need to rhyme is absurd.
Evolution into one is a frightening prospect,
Poetry has thus far been an elusive concept.
What is this, I find it hard to describe.
To this way of conversing, I do not subscribe.
Yet my fingers fly over my mobile phone keys,
Whoever thought it could come to me with such ease?
I'm trying to stop, believe me I am,
To deign to rhyme is not my chosen plan.
Sweet Jesus. You're turning into a monster! The uncontrollable urge to rhyme has seized your mind. You chronic rhymer.
The apocalypse is nigh. A rhyming obsession several hours before your eco paper. This doesn't augur well for the coming day. Doom is imminent. May you be elegantly poetic even in your final death. As your brain fires its last feeble impulses, let a limerick grace your pallid lips.
You suck.
The hours before my paper are not several.
Hell, why is this urge so palpable?
Such drama is not the need of the hour,
I think it's about time you go take a shower.
The coming day holds for several big hopes and dreams,
Since I know I'm failing, I'd rather gorge on ice cream.
Death is not imminent, don't be ridiculous.
Horses neigh and lions roar, but snakes hiss.
I'm tired and sleepy yet slumber evades me,
So do the concepts of Engel's Curve and Utility.
I do not suck, your accusation is an affront.
You were right when you said that he is a cunt.
Please make me stop, this cannot be healthy.
I'm stealing my neighbour's wi-fi, quite so stealthily.
Hahahahaha! This one was great! Hilarious. I love the parts about stealing wi-fi stealthily. Also the completely random part about horses, lions and snakes. And of course, the allusion to the cunt. This keeps getting better. I presage great fortune.
Strange you mention a shower, I just had one. You are creepy sometimes. :P
This seems to be an acquired skill, I am getting better,
Haw, to this crime, you are an abettor.
Creepy is sad, I prefer psychic,
Choose your words carefully, don't be a hick.
I am known to be entertaining yet,
For this kind of amusement on myself I'd never have bet.
Randomness has been called my forte,
Horses do in stables stay.
Allusions to the cunt are unintentional,
Such mistakes should not be met with approval.
You probably have to leave sometime soon,
Good luck for your paper, it shan't be doom.
I think the worst parts of your poetry are the best, purely because they're so intolerably funny. Examples -
Randomness has been called my forte,
Horses do in stables stay.
That might just be the single worst piece of poetry ever conceived. You ought to be thoroughly ashamed of yourself.
Also, you used the word 'Haw' in poetry. Fail.
To be studied by posterity this is not meant,
How can you be so rude, I'm just looking to vent.
The point of my rants are not what they say,
The focus is meant to be in what form they lay.
Do not criticise, this is not me blogging.
I can't help it, I probably deserve a flogging.
You sound so condescending, it's such a facade,
I know, deep down, you're relishing this charade.
The sun is about to rise, it's more scary than cool,
How I've been up all night, yet am an Economics fool.
Of wisdom do you have any words to impart?
Else I will, to curse myself, start.
Notice how this one has no random allusions,
Except this: Life is a series of hazy illusions.
To rise above the mist is a feat applaudable,
An achievement great, a party causable.
Hey this one was actually really good. Looks like you're warning up to the art of poetry. Again, I sense the onset of a disease. But it's ok, I forgive and accept you.
And you got me, I'm thoroughly enjoying this early morning entertainment. Just realised, this conversation has been going on for almost four hours. We have no life. Lol. Also indicates why you are still an Economics Fool.
If this is disrupting your study, seriously, we'll talk later. You have about... four hours to your doom. Study a bit, lessen the blow. Unless, of course, you have determined your path to be the one of Fuck That Shit (TM).
My fears are of the following nature:
My paper is to be written by this rhyming creature.
Definitions will take on a frightening form,
Once into the exam room I do storm.
Our common friends will curse us when their homepages open,
Our wall-to-wall they will want to toss in the bin.
Inane conversations as such are guilty pleasures,
Cheat notes are supposed to be hidden treasures.
It's a shame I have no experience in that field,
I really could use help, my ignorance I must shield.
I'm trying to sleep, yet I cannot rest,
This is painful, my ingenuity is a pest.
I gave up the futile attempts a while ago,
The stamp of a good student I am fated to forgo.
Your recent appreciation is much appreciable,
But anything more than words is not feasible.
What am I to do, where to roam?
For one with such rhymes, this house cannot be a home.
I try to rest my head still with rhymes it teems,
Sleep before my paper not an option seems.
"Our wall-to-wall they will want to toss in bin." - You have fallen to new depths. I had some faith in you. But I love it anyway. :P
Are you in a position to actually fail the exam? Or are you one of the blessed few with a natural flair to faff in an eco exam?
I bet you're going to run out of steam soon and relapse into prose mode anytime now. :P
Such bets you'd be a fool to make,
The very core of your life savings is up for a shake.
Failure to me is a concept as of today foreign,
Perhaps I will somehow manage my limited knowledge to lengthen.
Pray for me, thou officious knave,
I am, as cannot be helped, to my mind a slave.
Lies! I see your facade crumbling already! Your defenses are weakening. Your brave mask is wearing thin. Soon, you shall be devoid of verse.
And then, I shall laugh. Heartily, and in your face, in that order of priority.
Of poetry why would a facade I create?
This urge my inner consciousness can't seem to permeate.
If my resolve seems flagging, stand not this smug,
It's merely exhaustion, at me slumber tugs.
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