Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever...
I'm so sick of you too,
and your love poems...
Damn! Where's my pen?
I hate misplacing things.
Train of thought goes with it...

If I read one more love poem, I'll puke!
I'm ready to collect all love poems
and nuke them to the New Earth.

I'm not in love.
Ain't got nobody.
Tired of hearing 'bout hers
and your new hottie.
Don't want to know nuthin' 'bout your river of tears
Take that drivel and go cry in your beers!
And not here where I can hear you bitch' and moan.
Grab your lovesick friends,
and hit the bar zone farthest from me.
I'm sick of the love songs as well!
All the damned songwriters should be shot to hell.
One minute love's why they're alive;
the next, love's the reason for suicide.
No wonder the whole world is so damned confused.
Y'all worshippin' love and getting abused.

Oh, here's my pen.
What was that again?
Yes, "My love, shall I compare thee to a summer's night?
Was only yesteryear when I lay my head upon your chest with delight
and gazed into your hazel eyes
and saw my soul 'Twas ..."

by Nordette Adams