"Vogon poetry is the third worst in the Universe. The second worst is that of the Azgoths of Kria. During a recitation by their Poet Master Grunthos the Flatulent, of his poem, Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning, four of his audience members died of internal hemorrhaging, and the president of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council, survived by gnawing one of his own legs off... The very worst poetry in the universe died along with its creator, Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings of Sussex... in the destruction of the planet Earth"
My poetry is probably not proper in terms of form or anything and I am genuinely horrible at expressing my feeling so this is just what's come out. Take a gander, see if it makes sense:
I am only left with jibbe-jabber and I am sick of jibber-jabbering
Forget my liver! My heart aches...
Sometimes I remember,
but then I remember to forget!
What's this inside my head?
Is it oatmeal?
Yes, it's sticky wet oatmeal.
Is it good for you?
No, it's useless.
Does it taste good?
Maybe, but probably not.
I'm not yet ready to commit to my thoughts.
Twitter flitter romp
My insides want to evacuate me,
but I need them
I really can feel the decay
I'm sad we all fall apart so easily
This is how I imagined it would be
Oh damn, we're closing in on the end
Running on a tight schedule,
Self herder
Oh damn, I guess that means.....
Baaaaa?
Anger is an emotion I rarely feel, but oh is it consuming!
My insides are swirling
All of my insides
Woweeewowweeewow!
My heart beats quickly
This makes me woozy
You know,
I have a best friend named Suzie?
But back to the woozy
Sometimes things go black
And I start to fall down -
Fortunately I am a motivated person
And can sit down
Safely
My soul is too big for my body
My life cannot fill it
This causes little spaces of void
That I can float through
Ahh choo.
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