He was
feeling listless and extremely tired
But when he
she pointed the gun
He was
immediately inspired
Nothing like
adrenalin to accelerate the brain
And the simple
fact that she was quite insane
“You shall
poetically wax, boy,” she told him. “Never shall you wane!”
So with vim
and vigour he started to write
Knowing that
she would offer no respite
And there
would be hell to pay if he made her uptight
“I need
perfect verse, boy. You better get it right! Heaven help you if you fail to
excite!”
Her menacing
words were cause for alarm
As he had no
doubts she would do him harm
It had
almost happened before
With cleaver
in her hand she’d rushed through the door
Screaming,
“I told you what would happen if you started to bore!”
The
monstrous sight had shocked him to the core
“Please
don’t hurt me, I’ll do some more!” he’d cried, as cold sweat had seeped through
every pore.
“Give me five sonnets,” she’d wickedly hissed.
“Shakespearean ones. On that I insist.”
He’s never
defied her
Too afraid
to resist
Though he
has sometimes wondered how she came to exist
And why he’s
constantly deprived him of sleep
The curse of
insomnia allows confusion to creep
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