Well, I'll be damned.

Why? Oh, why won't you just rhyme?

Each word should mean something divine.

Your poems leave the mind unclean.

You speak of drugs and sex in dreams.

Is this to be something profound

Or is this meant to joke around?

I see you smirk - I see you smile.

I don't enjoy sarcastic style.

Why can't you write about a rose?

About romace in lovely prose?

I saw a butterfly outside -

NOW THAT would bring your work some pride.

Instead, you talk about the dead.

What's going on inside your head?

There's something wrong with you, my friend.

And is this poem at it's end?

Yes. Yes it is.