Fear and wooing.

Electric, thats me.

I prefer a world where the word love wasn't thrown around so much. How about some tenderness. A little bit of radiance for the evening. Before the dancing.

Everytime I focused on my abs a six pack of beer would appear. I would become popular. Women would want me, and men would want to become women. It is a tricky business being me.

Ten years of Terror.

The pixals dance on your computer as you sit on a bluff, red from an age of blood shed, the dancing of wicked beings, going nowhere, losing themselves, losing to win, failing and using it up.

Snoring won't make this happen.

Where is the system today, will it form from humans, a rebirth, a frontier, more familiar than all history, something worked for, for years, nothing to fear, a lost people, humans into the green and purple, worlds beyond earth, they are here, and the evidence is prooving itself, by itself, light forms in darkness from the dark, to be human, with out words.

In the why poetry question:

I got Bill here!

Maybe I was right. The math looked too perfect to be otherwise.