Ask me not to rhyme again for God’s sake.
These two years have turned me into a vegetable paste.
Im slowly drowning into a lake,
As these rhyming couplets putteth me into a state of haste.
I vow to thee that Shakespeare wore it better,
And, make me not take away his knowledgeable attire.
Everybody needs this little pinch of glitter,
Since, without it we might get an artillery fire.
I doth not think I make sense.
But I will give it a second try for thy sake.
For all the failure art in the past tense.
The future holds a quite delicious cake.
Thy love hath gotten me feeling like an inferior.
Why art thou so hard to please, Shakespeare?