Please grab me by the neck
and drain me me of all my internal
Then embark on a nine-issue
exploration of self-loathing
and fear and
a trashed liver.
You have adverbs scattered on your floor,
and nouns sinking into the classroom's carpet.
Sonnets are flowing freely on the desk,
and iambic pentameter managed to ruin
the laptop with B-period's grades.
Sorry for the spilled poetry.