A word, self-righteous angel
If you write the Anthology of You
There are consequences
Demon-meaning
In essence
It’s time to drink down the medicine:
If you play with Ouija
Don’t complain about the smell of dead people
SOB with me
Your Sympathies:
CopyScape
Ramblings of a Medicated Lady: Words of Woe by Loria Taylor 
4 comments
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September 1, 2011 at 10:30 am
slpmartin
Quite like those last two lines as an end to the poem.
September 3, 2011 at 1:10 pm
Bryan Borland
“Don’t complain about the smell of dead people”
Damnz. Flex those poetic muscles!
September 4, 2011 at 4:52 pm
Uncle Tree
Hello, Mi’Lady Loria! 🙂
It’s good to see you’re still plugging along
with the best of company. (Hi, Bryan!)
Say, can we call ourselves hardened veterans yet?
I mean – not that our hearts or veins are, uh, you know.
And…and, not that we’re super-extremely prolific or anything
But hey! On another note, I see you’ve sorta come out of the closet, S.O.B.
He-he…still teaching? Just wond’rin. I should M.Y.O.B, huh?
Ah, down to the dregs. Down to the putrid, pungent scent of
The Grim-est of Reaper’s gaseous and repelling expulsions.
We must keep alight the sparkling bright flame. Must we not?
Damnable demons. S’s. O. B’s. !!! We shall blow them back to Hell!
Anyway…Have a happy Sunday night! Toil and labor, set aside
till Tuesday at the earliest. It’s a holiday. Treat yourself!
Peace and loves to you and yours as always – UT
September 6, 2011 at 5:25 pm
medicatedlady
Uncle–I love your lyrical comments always. Best to you, too!