I attack all things new. I'm but barely alive.
No, I haven't a clue. I'm deficient in drive.
All my energy's spent and my faith is a sham.
Did I gamble the rent...? Yes. (I hate who I am.)
I'm deep into the booze. When I'm jealous, I pout.
I garrotted my muse once my luck had run out.
I am manic yet dim. I persistently bore.
I'm wa-a-ay out on a limb. My libido is poor.
I'm too quick to accuse. In your wounds I'll rub salt.
I consistently lose. Want the truth...? It's my fault.
I am up to no good. I am vain to the bone.
I will not (though I should). I am xenophobe-prone.
Though I yearn to be hip I wind up acting twee:
I'm a zero, a zip. But, what d'you think of me...?
PlaysWellWithLetters is a blogorrheal notebook of Nonsense in rhyming metres accompanying often-inconsequential sequencial graphics all issuing from the hands and/or minds of Sgt. N. ("Jim") Smithe-Magee, amateur author/illustrator whose several books are available online from Politics & Prose Bookstore under the nom de charade Ulysses Poe.
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Sphynx's riddle...? Snare for fools: Pyramids at Giza. Pepperoni plopp'd near tools: Gear; amidst sat pizza. Moral: T...
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To view an image at a larger size, click on it. Rova Rova's a cove christen'd Karl: "Supremacy egg-white...? Je pa...