Selling grandma’s scarves,
In a temple of old Jews,
What a waste of time.
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I used to think I was a ghost, and that no one knew me, but I am as transparent as the air you breathe. I don’t care about making it big anymore. Now I just want something, anything, to make sense. Maybe some day I will know my purpose, and when that day comes, I just hope I’m still sane enough to help.
Blog Archive
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2008
(164)
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December
(19)
- Blackheart Reflects on his First Year as a Blogger
- You suck, winter! You suck!
- Christian Evangelists
- Unfinished Poetry
- Hickelby, Quickelby
- Lear Essay
- Crunch Time! (English 1000G)
- Unrequited Love
- Sitting in an Empty Room
- Still Water (Haiku)
- Why are We Still Friends?
- Five by Five
- Depressia’s Scarves’ Haiku
- Aftermath
- I am Poet
- Redhead on the Street
- What’s Important, Is what’s Inside it.
- A poem a day keeps the proctor away.
- Personal Aspirations in J-Pan, #2
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December
(19)
About Me
- Malice Blackheart
- I write long rants and shitty poetry. I do not care what you think.
4 comments:
Smells like old moth balls...
These expensive itchy scarves -
Can't we just burn them?
I'd like to reply, but I stink at haikus
It's great the haiku
Wish I could do half as good
Keep up the good work
Tada! Look ma, no hands!
Hahaha, nice work, guys!
Oh dear, did you sell any scarves?
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