~theguywhowritesstuff

Theodoric W. Schmidt

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Pill in a bottle

There's a pill in a bottle, there's the bottle in his hand. there's a baby in the corner - in the garbage can.
no more need for scalples, no more need for pain terminate the baby - It's what we call humane.
It's a painless death? It's a painful lie that a human should say that a human should die
It's our love of money it's our greed for lust it is the new world order - "let them die if they must".
They never had a chance they never had a say they never even understood the price they had to pay. &n

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MUSEingsMy muse and I reached reason. I gladly ate her fruit, with amative glutt and nill return. She softly made known: affections aren't freely laid. one must watch, listen, read, examine. Only then will she sweetly whisper, Aye; then will we love once more. MUSEings
by ~theguywhowritesstuff

First CrescentStars shine in Cleveland amidst a thin veil of creeping clouds - silvered by gentle kisses of the new moon's first crescent. First Crescent
by ~theguywhowritesstuff

Persuasion"There comes a time in every mortals life when one must meet ones maker. Unfortunately, some need a little persuasion..."
He switched his gaze from his bony hands, placed delicately on his lap, to meet the therapists's eyes. The emaciated face of her patient seemed to gleam with a passion for his job.
"... That is where I enter the proverbial picture". Persuasion
by ~theguywhowritesstuff

Den of DragonsWithin the dragons' den -     the smoke they breathe; twists, turns, spirals     hea'enward in clouds of tar and ash     (their mouths gaping and nostrils flared).
Indeed they don't breathe fire -     They inhale it, swallowing whole     The ancient gift of Prometheus     (the first giver of stolen goods).
A wise woman once said:     'This is the closest one can be     with said sacred element. Yet     such intimacy comes with price & Den of Dragons
by ~theguywhowritesstuff

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Six SonsI spelled the name George in lemon-yellow candy hearts. The protruding stem of the "r" said e-mail me in pink capital letters. I don't know anyone named George but it seemed better than making excel charts of the names of my children. The children are on the same theoretical level that George is. I would not name one of my children George, I think. I don't really even like the name George. My desk was cleared off hastily for it to be written in candy hearts; the papers are all over the floor, scattered amongst the unmatched socks and milk cartons. I am eating only the white ones because I am a supremacist with candy hearts. George is blond, I Six Sons
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deviantID

I find:
The hardest
time for me to write
poetry is when I try.

The easiest?
Never.

Devious Info

Favourite artist: God
Tools of the Trade: Heart, Head, Hands.

MUSEings...

Thu Jun 18, 2009, 9:05 AM

"They are all of one mind, their hearts are set upon song and their spirit is free from care. He is happy whom the Muses love. For though a man has sorrow and grief in his soul, yet when the servant of the Muses sings, at once he forgets his dark thoughts and remembers not his troubles. Such is the holy gift of the Muses to men." - Hesiod

My muse and I reached reason.
I gladly ate her fruit,
giving nothing in return.
She softly made known:
affections aren't freely laid.
one must watch, listen, read, examine.
Only then will she sweetly whisper,
Aye; then we shall love once more.

Godspeed,
-theodoric

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