It's the apocalypse of the antipoetic,
some are apoplectic, instead of apologetic,
this is no diplomatic 'dead poet's society',
but the anxiety results in notoriety,
increasing dubiety for word weaving variety.
The grammar police pursue like the four horsemen,
trying to silence my poetic garden's endorphins.
Pouring petrol upon my enchanted petals,
burning the rain, before sweet petrichor settles,
so onyx skies, thundering cries...
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