R.I.P. J.C. Your Dead To Me

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    R.I.P. J.C. Your Dead To Me


    A society of agreed contradictions,

    Do nothing but feed my addictions.

    I'll sneak into heaven once i've witnessed hell.

    I'm stuck in a jamaican sauna

    While my pores absorb the marijuana.

    Exhaling, I sigh for help.

    I'm trapped in a glass prison.

    The shards enlarge the scars from the encision.

    Bud, your my only pal.

    In heaven you spend seven

    minutes till your end

    i'd rather pawn my soul so theres money to spend

    They look for the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come

    it sounds like a horror flick where man kind is on the run.

    I'm living til the day when this movie finally comes to an end.

    It say's in The "Good" Book,

    That adam and eve were scolded for the apple they took.

    They didn't mean to offend.

    They were naturally curious,

    But God got furious and depanced them both.

    I hope i'm wrong

    Wheres my bong?

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    connsk8 commented on R.I.P. J.C. Your Dead To Me

    06-17-2009

    I agree with Zenshadows comments of how the grammar takes away fomo the poem but you still get your point across and it is a powerful one, although I may not agree with it, you make a strong case for your feelings and that is what poetry is, feelings...

    ZenShadow commented on R.I.P. J.C. Your Dead To Me

    05-14-2009

    mmmk. a drug poem. Jamaica sauna? was 'expecting' Jamaica jail by the rhyme structure, lol. some grammatical issues (the cant should be can't, depanced? is that a word? depantsed perhaps? exhaleing should be exhaling. "bud, your my only pal." should be "bud, you're my only pal." "Wheres my bong?" should be " Where's my bong?" "I hope i'm wrong" should be "I hope I'm wrong" (cap the "I'm") Again, it's the little things. Don't distract the reader from the poem because of the grammar and spe

    AbeyBaby

    06/13/2009

    thanks man,, i'm diggin the helpful critique, it makes sense.

    When power leads man towards arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the area of man's concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses.

    John F. Kennedy (1917-1963) Thirty-fifth President of the USA

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