On Hello Poetry, they are all the rage,
See them each day trend for awful sake.

Massive egos with single digit readerships,
Their whole purpose on HP is puff-fakery.

The pests shure love their odd, fake names,
To comment on themselves, how very lame.

Look at them but do not, seriously read,
Each poem they write is but a base need.

A bad yearning to fill their empty souls,
Please don't 'like' them - it's rather old.

Shiftless and hollow are their fleabag pleas,
Wannabes will always, pathetically, wanna be.

Some pests like to pose they are dying,
All pests fake they are meaningful, crying.

Some pests pretend to be smart as Rabbis,
Writing wisdomless couplets endearing swine.

Some pests pretend to be noble as wolves,
Feeding their sheep the ranks of their stools.

Most pests on HP are prodigious sycophants,
First they love, love you until another chants.

Fly-by-nighters are all the brown-nosed pests,
Wallowing in the very dirts they feign protest.

If you see a pest on the sad pages playing,
Just ignore them, they may soon go awaying.