Broken Faucet Spits In Shape Of A Lying Puppet And Jug Head Jones

I don't know what poetry is,
I've only got some 'woe is me'
charisma and
flows that sizzle and
thoughts dismal
jotted out like drizzle

Suicide implied in
spicy syllable syrup served in small
and rusty thimbles

I shed tears akin those of pit bulls

In my sentences, sadness drips
I find
their splashes simple
and sinful
I'm a dying villain,
let fat lady sing,
drip
drip, drip
pitiful
absolutely pitiful,
mine is how a quitter moves
or crashes ship