An Anagram of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 29
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29
When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
“Thanks for the Serotonin, Kittenwhiskers!”
Oh, damn it! Fate has kneed me in the balls.
Substantial tenderness (a ton!) persists.
I pray, yet Jesus kinda screens my calls.
Hanky to face, I listen to The Smiths.
With downturned chin and upper lip a-waggle,
I wade in shallows, dream of rollin’ deep.
Anesthetise me! Shoot me! I won’t haggle!
Who in the hell could marry such a creep?
Then I think: Hey, my dainty madam wife!
I’d better sheathe my kvetch-fest, ’cause she hates it!
Yon steamy female melts my incel strife;
Absorbs my tyrant angst, defenestrates it.
Though heaven knows I’m miserable now,
I’ve got one good thing going for me: thou.
