A song that won't be finished.... due to no more need
You are not a mind reader
I am not a happiness breeder
I am not happy with you and your disposition isn't either
Should we have invented a meter
to gauge our joy, instead of one for teeth grinders and teethers
I wouldn't be at whitt's end, wth, to my throat, a meat cleaver
The answer isn't suicide
Of course, it never is
But the pain gettin there is a joyous ride
Where often she has hers, and he has his
This union was do-or-die
And will end as drab as Le Miz
As I sit and must mentally pry
My grip from the knife like chocolate to little kids
When whence there was a spark to ignite joy
No more remains though hearts of embers hope
One day a spark may jump the bright alloy
As it's sharpened to dig, to help me cope
Though I will be gone and forgotten soon
Perhaps the spark will dance another tune
Oh well, I did finish. 4 rhyme schemes, iambic pentameter, what more..?
What more needeth thee thou joyous whore
Nothing more? Then, fair day, unfair night, blotched the knife will be with my gore
For it is I first who I adore
And this knife second who I hath built a good repoirs