Sonnet from Essex

This sonnet is a pile of empty poop

These lines are words that fall into a mess

This urge to share is aimed at wanting you

To buy me drinks to last me all the night

I mix my metaphors in shocking ways

My choice of phrase is stupid, laughable

These silly dum de dums they make no sense

Pretentious in the form and in the lines

I only make these sonnets so i can

Get myself a girl who likes bad verse

I charm her into bed with cliched crap

And add a lot of wine to make quite sure

And when she wakes the morning next to me

She wonders “Who the ugly fuck is he?”

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