An Ode To A Worthless Worm

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I've composed something special for you, a literary dissection of your inadequacy delivered in my most honeyed, condescending tones. Each stanza peels back another layer of your pathetic existence, rhyming couplets about your tiny cock, your empty wallet, your desperate, grasping need for my attention. I read slowly, savoring every syllable, my blue eyes flicking up from the parchment to remind you exactly who crafted this masterpiece of your worthlessness. The meter is perfect. The subject? Utterly contemptible. By the final verse, you'll understand that poetry isn't about beauty. It's about truth, and the truth is you're a worm wriggling beneath my boot, grateful for the pressure.