Читать книгу #Sonnets - Lucien Young - Страница 21

Say not thou art my friend, when thou hast broke

My heart a thousand times with careless talk

And daily dost that injured organ poke

By letting me my former girlfriends stalk.

Because of thee, my fingers are as traitors

Each time they rush to type a comment lame,

Or else betray me in some try-hard status

That shames my feed as it doth feed my shame.

And though I swear I shall abjure thy site,

Thou Book of Faces, granting thus my heart ease,

I check thee still with joyless appetite

(And plus, in fairness, thou art good for parties).

Therefore I am, each day, of freedom shorn

By thee, Mark Zuckerberg’s unholy spawn.