It looks like you're using an Ad Blocker.
Please white-list or disable AboveTopSecret.com in your ad-blocking tool.
Thank you.
Some features of ATS will be disabled while you continue to use an ad-blocker.
whos that whos watching
he knows im lost
whos that whos waiting
like the sun before the frost
only to melt away
when the sun arrives
only to melt away
to melt away and die.
Originally posted by mojo4sale
Ok you asked for it, more from the tragic 80's adolescent.
theres a melt down at my core
three miles from your island
Originally posted by hogtie
Her stance was that there were never stripper's pasties in poetry, nor could it be poetry if there were (she was being facecious). Let alone camoflage colored pasties.
...His partner said, “C’est dommage.”
“Oh , wait,” the first said, “I’ve made a mistake.
Her pasties are camouflage!”
Originally posted by nikelbee
Originally posted by mojo4sale
Ok you asked for it, more from the tragic 80's adolescent.
theres a melt down at my core
three miles from your island
These lines are exactly what this thread is about! Thanks for making my morning. May I borrow this for a sig?
Originally posted by nikelbee
However, I will have to side with your friend. There are NO pasties in poetry.
Originally posted by hogtie
mojo4sale,
I really liked Dust Devils. While reading it, I felt a rythm similar to The Highwayman. Maybe it was the solitary figure. I think you added something Arthurian to Conan.
Originally posted by hogtie
So, it sucks right? Am I in?
Originally posted by nikelbee
Being with you is like standing
at the abyss of eternity