My weak hammer, you write me in a dark farce.
How I hate the way you bark, hide and chirp,
Invading my mind day and through the night,
Always dreaming about the empty tunnel of penis.
Let me compare you to a static arch?
You are more aghast, nocturnal and neat.
Fun clouds dull the broadcast flowers of March,
And the springtime has the dogmatic eat.
How do I hate you? Let me count the ways.
I hate your dramatic lip, smile and style.
Thinking of your steadfast smile fills my days.
My hate for you is the discreet mikhail.
Now I must away with a discrete heart,
Remember my fast words whilst we're apart.
YOU ARE READING
Incoherent Poetry
PoetryPoetry that serves to clash tonally and ideally with the objective that a new tone, genre, or coherency (some semblance of sense at all) can be made from throwing different ideas together in a bizarre gathering of words.
