Dear William Shakespeare

Poetry is dead.
Acapella crawled into a hole
with its best friend bass line
and guitar riff. Stage prescence
smoked weed, slang titled
"Hold your left nut and strut
like a fucking cripple with a
broken crutch" Emotion
shot itself with the shotgun
Model: 62 Fake Gangsta.
Reality died and hung
on a noose strung with
the basic building blocks
of genocide.

Poetry is dead.
Symbolism sold its soul
to the devil for lies and
false claims. Imagery shows
signs of being succeeded by
the music video. Diction
lost it all and went over
the edge thanks to
abusive self-proclaimed
experts. Supercalafraga-
listicexpealadocious had
a part in the scheme as
well.

Poetry is dead!
The tombstone of Poetry
by Poe's tree, being
watched by Lewis
Carrol's mangled guardians.
Prose and sonnet sealed
in by the new red
and white prison bars of
freedom, on the charges
of "Perfection can't ride
a beat." A sleeping
beauty with seeping veins,
tamed by mutant doctor
executives, called Jive
Zomba, and Interscope.
Goodbye forever

Love,
.Your Soul

This stanza
shall dance in denotations.
Poetry is dead.