Maybe
If I could write a black a sonnet,
She would wear me her
All-night bonnet.

Maybe if I could make her moan
With my ****** lines
Only then,
Will I invoke some spirit divine.

Ignore the hanged-man
And who is next to be hangged
We need must commite
This innocent Crime tonight

If u ever wanna **** a poet,
then u must first **** his name
Then he becomes lame
And gat no fame
To proclaim
**** his lines
Then he gat no incline
To mime
**** his  radiance
Then he gat no more audience

Just cause I made my love known,
She took me for some **** clown
Probably some love sick teenage

She promised to stay
Every single day
Whatever may,
She was never gonna sway
Yet she broke her vow.

Tried to make her sit on my sofa,
Recite her best poem I have written so far
Buh she is sick and bored
Of my lines and bars
I guess shakesprean kind of lines,
Doesn't fancy her a better romance.

What may please,
Is a rolling moss
Buh all I see,
Is a love dose.

Her premier eyes,
Sees less of
Mists of time.
And my gentle smile,
Is freeze by stream of ice.

Her softie care,
Is in my heart charmed.
My prolonged grief,
Slashed
Her sure relief.

The thought of her mortal beauty,
Seduced my immortality.

But what nerves have I
To make a move?
For I do not rhyme
Nor mime.

And as such,
I stood my space
Shaking
Like Shakespeare.

For when ease comes,
My will,
Is ill.