Instead of wholesomeness,
lets all throw some shade,
giving all the loathsomeness,
in our hall of shame,
let tardy revelations,
make demons out of stars,
our lurid ruminations,
ensure there are more scars,
though we err, we’re sacred,
so lets all be the judge,
to recycle stale hatred,
making thoughts out of mud,
put success in the dark,
make it hard to reminisce,
let Spanish ladies spark,
be outshone by his kiss,
though free birds are to fly,
some touches are mistook,
now we choose to take the time,
to edit My Booky Wook,
a State of Chaos, blunders,
Laura presents the story,
of dour Johnson wonders,
no resolve, means all the glory,
no prudent plans are here,
flippancy dims the light,
for true love is so clear,
when we’re Married at First Sight,
we’re overjoyed, to be in charge,
the ones who author pain,
as long as we humans, have it large,
there’ll always be hall of shame!