Timmy RL Fake and Chairman of the Bored's blog: "Poems"

Hello Time! We never talk. I watch afternoon turn to night, I see dark change to light, And it's all because of you. But I have been wondering, and wanted to ask, How you do what you do. This constant thing of making present into history, Shouldn't be such a mystery. Sometimes I look at my watch and it takes hours to make 9:47 become 9:53. Sometime I look at a calender in April and February seems like minutes ago. And now I look at photos of what I think was yesterday, but the time stamp says 17 years ago. WTF!!? I look in the mirror. I shave my face and see you've been there. You've loosened my skin, taken my hair. I've been blaming myself, but it's you, you sick prick! Never stopping, never slowing, never accelorating, Just constant, and constantly deceptive. The illusion of a second, a minute, a day. A guessing game you would have us play. Are you enjoying this? Know what? Just f%#k off!

I wish I could wake up, Smell the air, feel the dampness, Sense the urgency time leaves in my head. Shake cobwebs from my brain, Grab my flesh, dig my nails into my skin, Leaving scratches and bleeding red. My eyes are open, Looking left, looking right, And never finding what lies ahead. I listen closely, Blocking noises, focused on sounds, And on what someone might have said. Wondering, full of fear, Am I still here, or have I gone? Am I alive or am I dead?

Look too briefly, Think indifferently, Judge casually, Take nonchalantly Talk carelessly, Taste forcefully, Walk straight ahead, Forget how you came, Listen informally, Avoid the insurmountable, Dwell on the regrettable, Attempt what is reachable, And exist. Try too hard, Care too deeply, Love too fiercely, Laugh wholeheartedly, Forgive without reason, Give without expectation, Wonder without ever being sated, Be thankful of every breath, Savor art, Sing from your heart, Kiss without intent to stop, And live.

In my mind I draw your face as I close my eyes, Fearing the time without it will stall my heart. Hours pass as minutes with you by my side, And seconds seem like years when we’re apart. The softness of your lips and warmth of your eyes, Fill my heart so I feel I will surely explode. And when I serve the time away from you, I feel barren and empty, as if I would erode.

With no underwear clean I decided to go freestyle tonight. :P Just let me say this poem applies to nobody on my list, and certainly no one who reads my blog. Points whores don't last two days on my list. Points Whore I see you, Points Whore! You stop by my page, With no intent to engage, In any reading, or anything that would take some effort on your part. I see you've not changed your sales pitch, you pathetic bitch! "Rated and fanned you! Hope you'll do the same!" Shame, shame shame! "I return all love!" (slapping my face, shaking my head) Huh???? I don't think so! A year ago when I was new, I was foolish enough to believe you. And embarrassed, because what did I do? Ten folders, each with hundreds of fuzzy, blurry cam shots. Is that a cleavage? You say it is. I'll take your word and give it a 10. Hell, might as well give them all 10's! After all, you say, and people who pimp you say, "...return all love!" My friend wants me to look at a bulletin. But where is it? It was posted just an hour ago? I don't see it. Are you sure? OMG, that whore! The bulletins I see are all hers! The whole board! "I'm pimpin my girls!" "I'm pimpin my girls!(repost)" "I'm pimpin my girls!(repost)(repost)" "I'm pimpin my girls!(repost)(repost)(repost)" You've reposted the same bulletin 6 times this hour? Why? I've lost the ability to see important bulletins, But I do get to see cam shots of...what you say is cleavage. Even though it's hard to tell one pic from the next. Oh, I see, your hand is different in that shot. I guess you don't remember, I added you once. When you posted new pics I rated them, Even though I hated them. Because that's how friends do But you.... You never returned to my page again. Not once! Not one return rate in months. I hope you have to move where the only service you have is 28kb dial up.

This will be my only Tanka of the Fall season. The last leaves are luckiest As from tree tops, they Take pleasure in the views of The multicolor blanketed Ground and scented breeze.

This will be my only sonnet on the topic of inner strife caused by one's own ever-changing beliefs and values. I know what you all are saying - "Timmy! How can you stop at just one sonnet about inner strife caused by one's own ever-changing beliefs and values? Come on, you knucklehead!" I'm sorry, I've mauled it over and I'm pretty firm in my resolve on this one. So here it is... Values To shake lose all the dust that coats my shoes, And leaving it to settle far behind, Is by far simpler than trying to lose, To clear away the dust that clouds my mind. Gathered over the years without discern, Yet kept in place with insistence and trust, While feelings swell and many issues burn, Confused over good and bad, should and must. Should I go left or right, move up or back? What forms my standards I use to decide? Should they change so often and do I lack, Common sense and vision to smooth life’s ride? I may well seem so firm in my resolve, Yet I am in constant struggle inside.

This will be my only early fall haiku. It's titled, "The Smell of Fall" Dew kissed pumpkin on the vine, Apple cider and dried leaves delight the senses. All new fragrances, from Glade!

My sins are my possessions. Others might think they see them, but they are reading their own stories through foggy glass. They might think they understand, but they only understand themselves better than they do me. They condemn themselves by judging me. My sins are not my shame. They are a collection of my experiences, good and bad. Like any other experience, I might learn from them to live smarter, or enjoy repeating them to live better. I can take them out or leave them tucked away because they are mine. My sins do not define me, any more than the people I know or the food I eat. They do not guide me or set my path in life. When I walk my feet land where they do based on everything I’ve learned before, from myself and from others.

This will be my only first part of September haiku. Please don't bug me for more. Insomnia I lie waiting, in surrender But sleep never accepts my invitation Sleep must be female