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Literature Text
Oh you decrepit waste of air and space;
It pains me to even know you exist.
All the rage I hold fast within my fist
I will gladly plant on your dirt clad face.
You are a disgrace to the human race;
the mistake evolution must have missed.
Those were my wife’s lips your Mandrill fangs “kissed”.
Tonight, a spade for my queen, and you, Ace.
But who am I to dig a grave for two?
Today I am the do-gooder in white.
Today I am free and you in a zoo.
Your future looks dull, while mine glistens bright.
You’ve earned my thanks and my pity too.
May my planted fist of rage decay to blight.This is an Italian Sonnet.
© 2016 - 2024 Way-Past-Cool
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