Question: A “Poetry Is Often Fiction” thing. Can You See The Difference? A Thursday Sonnet.?
Confessions Of A Dark-Skinned Pool Boy
Hired To Fill A Chain-Smoking, Seventy-three
Year-old Hag’s Pool… (tee hee if ya know what I mean)

I’M SORRY Eh’ DITOR BUT THE MIX OF
BAGELS, DIPPITY-DOO AND ELDER OIL
JUST DON’T DO IT FOR DIS PO’IT
by………………………..

Atlantic stare I swear to thee, believe!
You must for I just cannot just – if I,
Have not your trust in reason mine, puh-lease,
twenty-three on seventy-three I died

But not of elder smells or plus-sized slips,
Nor flaky folds between your angus thighs,
Nor tainted bagels He brew on your nips,
Or sunken gaping route of ships ‘fore I,

You see my thee I died because of Doo,
Dippity goo you used to tame red wool,
Of upstairs, downstairs wall to wall on you,
Like Simon’s solo Art which failed to rule,

My anglo Johnson ‘beit twenty C
M’wilts to Thee O’Hag of Seven Three
.
.

Answer:

Answer by Buk
“Nor tainted bagels He brew on your nips”
Brilliant.

When someone proves themselves over and over and over and over and over and over again to be a pathological liar, that person should be very aware of what they are unconsciously wishing for.