Relegated to the corner stool
I contemplate my crime
Maybe it was meter, No
I bet it was my rhyme.
Felt ashamed and isolated till I realized
There are four corners and others too
Who are plagues against humanity
War mongers, ax murders and a slum lord I once knew.
Still, deviating from form at times
On others I did inflict
Malfeasance, but not without passion
Bad poems are my crimes.
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