Came to check my suck ass rhyme

Found it had run out of time!

I searched the spot my poem had graced...

Alas! I found it'd been replaced!

Some wordsmith had usurped my verse...

I read the tripe, and spat a curse.

Replaced! By THIS? Are these words wittier?

Aw hell no! It's way, way shittier!

So lame a poem assaults my eye!

The source of which should retch and die!

But in death's stead, I bring this rant

I'd hurl more stones, but simply can't...

there's no time left for bitch n' weepin',

'cause both my kids ought to be sleepin'...

but you, weak scribe, who mauled and wrecked,

you thank the gods! You genuflect!

For blessed anonymity,

has saved your hide from surly me!

For if I had but half a chance

I'd strangle you with your own damn pants

then bash you with a bag of rocks

and stuff your throat with rolled-up socks.

I'd pull your tongue, see that you bit it,

rip off your arm and beat you with it

smash your cakehole til you drool,

beatcha like a rented mule.

My temper never has been shorter...

Perhaps a Midol is in order.

(Only kidding. Poems suck, most do. Yours sucks best, but it's supposed to.)

Love, Myra

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