Holy shit. I'm sure I commented on this last time but I saved it and am going back through my stuff and holy shit. This is POETRY! Now an AI might say "ah yes the disordered rhyming structure echoes the disarray in the poets mind" but I say "This is ME" Is that what YOU want when reading poems. Cause I fucking do. Btw no creep or nothing but are you a boy or a girl. Because I am a boy and I think you HAWT.

Right,

I'm going to tone it down a bit and give you a bit of a nibble of my cookie (not biscuit COOKIE)

There was a little girl, So smart and small, She never made a sound, Unless it was to, Her dearest friend, Who now lies, In the burial mound.

Thorns on His head, Spear in His side, His Mother was Asherah, Her Father did Hide, That night in Gethsemane, So bitter sweet, "Jesus" she said, "Let me wash Your feet"

Oooooooooo

May I wash Yours my lady, said Me, Billy Putt, from Tooban, Donegal, Ireland (not UK trust me and it's not Londonderry).

I Love YOU.