A love letter

My dearest song,

Go away. GO AWAY. GO AWAY.

For you are of no assistance in this wee hour of the day, and you are of no assistance at night. You are such a disappointment, eh song, you spread-legged bitch of a poet's wrong. And your words are but a pissour of marble, stained in yellow and with the stench of strange skins that I cannot recognise.

Sonnet, ode, couplet, ballad - Ah I have seen all of your curves and so have everyone else - isn't it? Yeah? Between the lines I scrawled in long hand on your thigh and your back, you got graffitis by other hands. And you - free verse - you are the worst. You neighing mare in heat! You catnip sniffing feline poetic fart - ha well and so there is no wrong! and there is no right after all! Hahahaha! Hahahaha!

Yeah song, get lost and do not let me remember. Anything.