Stanley crawled along the shore
Holding the ocean in his hand
Bearing the words "Nevermore"
He was quite justifiably mad.
He had without, a coin to his name.
Nor the age of someone wiser.
Stanely, without thinking met a dame.
Who shared his love of a ****** writer.
I refrain from telling you so thusly.
But I authored this text thinking of me.
In my room, on a bed.
Too bad no one likes reading about poor people.
Stanelys dame had given him hope.
And tore it slowly without a sound.
Crushing, to his very soul.
He refused to swim, preferring to drown.
But I dare not say where stanely ends.
Or where his story dared to lead.
He did not drown within those depths.
How poetic that must have been.
Stanely looked upon the beach.
Feeling four winds at his heels.
His writers note had overreached.
And stanely cried, forgetting that girl.
I'd prefer dark comedy writing.