A tease, a tease,
oh how I am a tease,
for I write poems of which
you shall never ever read!

I eke, I eke,
these thoughts with blood as ink,
on gasping pages drowning
in the anguish that I bleed!

I speak, I speak,
of demons I've yet freed,
solely expelled for exorcise,
whose omens I must take heed!

I tease, I tease,
I do not aim to please,
for I write poems of which
you shall never ever read!