But who's counting anyway.
Simple note from me, to me, to say.
I'm doing fine.
Poem number fifty nine.
Yet, does this one even count, for.
Seems to me a little, back door.
But, like I said just two lines, before.
I've decided to add this one to, make more.
To bring up my poem collection, high score.
Hope it makes you laugh your ass off, rolling around on the, floor.
Don't want to be an intellectual, complete, bore.
For fear of hearing you falling tired, with a loud, snore.
Because you see for me, they really are no, chore.
I guess I am a word to written man, whore (can he say that?).
Trust this won't get sold in a fine store.
I really am a sweet man, some say to, the core.
I hope you like this one, gigantic run on, and on, encore.