Stalker poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best stalker poems ever written. Read all poems about stalker.
4ever my friend you will always be
And you'll always be the number 1 girl to me
I know we've known each other 4 so long
And the friendship we've built has always been strong
I am living on
because providing apologies is easy
I see her fly up high in the blue skies
From afar I see her stand near by
She is ugly
Feet that could be clawed but are not ...
Arms that might have flown but did not ...
No one said 'Let there be angels!' but the birds
buying dreams was easy for me too
Just signed up a loan
; leveraged and bought all;
Cheap money could buy..
You think your immune,
To the powers that be,
Those who say,
That you're meant for me,
She is large and matronly
And rather dirty,
A little sardonic-looking, as if domesticity had driven her to it.
Though what she does, except lay four eggs at random in the garden once a year
The good padre David Ajemia, not from San Diego,
But from Boston, struck out with Conan O’Brian,
The padre is a priest obsessed with the Conan’s late night show
David was a stalker, who felt Conan was his Goliath,
SEILTANZER (Tightrope Walker)
I had a friend - called Alan Stalker
Who was a fearless tightrope walker
When your Facebook gets hacked and locked.
Clearly the stalker his friends.
They keep reporting it as theirs.
The stalker, his friends.
I don't remember starring before
Neither do I remember stalling before
Because of a creature that I came across
Not that I am a stalker,
Av Stanley Collymore
Piers Morgan er virkelig en patetisk unnskyldning
fra en mann -en galkende sår i ansiktet til bona
Av Stanley Collymore
Piers Morgan är verkligen en patetisk ursäkt för en man -
en cankerous öm i ansiktet av bona fide journalistik.
Von Stanley Collymore
Piers Morgan ist wirklich eine erbärmliche Entschuldigung
eines Mannes - eine krebsartige Wunde im Gesicht von
By Stanley Collymore
Piers Morgan truly is a pathetic excuse of a man -
a cankerous sore on the face of bona fide
What will you gift me dear?
A milk or a poison?
Oh! My heart can accept the both.
Though they both makes me live little longer in this never ending melancholy, milk may spare me from your memories and move on to find oasis of happiness and peace; poison drowns me into alcohol as an antidote to live little longer to requiem your memories.
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