Sonnet for Sludgeheaps

The internet's a damn peculiar place.
It harbours both the best and worst of us.
But being able not to show your face
Allows degenerates to show their pus.

It's fun to toss some mayhem in the mix
When nobody can fathom who you are.
It's oh-so-tempting just to get a fix
Of stuff that feels like power from afar.

The tiny-penis'd, tiny-brain'd out there
Must do whate'er they can to feel secure.
But websites are not prize crops at a fair;
They simply do not need that much manure.

But we who write and otherwise create
Know well our worth; the rest can masturbate.

The End

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