Rhyming.

It is tragic.
But non the less, don't go around scraping
All ells's existence.
You and I
And all our peers
Whom are scattered
Flickering their pens and camras
And oil paintings and guitars
All of them think
Such wonderful thoughts
About themselves.
Trash poetry
That missiles them
To great summits.
Maybe,
Maybe
I don't want ANY of this
Maybe I just want to cry into the world
Rhyming all the while.