Pardon my literary contraption
I’m just trying to render
My present rapture
In quite a stuck up way.

Excuse me pitiful ones
My irony is not aimed at you
But neither similes nor hyperboles
Can distinguish from misfortunes I don’t share.

Be mindful, glorious critics,
The pretentious, self-absorbed
Dispensation are manifestations
Of a million endorphins.

I apologize, dear reader
Understand, these time capsules
Needs to be vociferous and rumble
Down generations and family trees.

Your disdain is welcome,
I accept your accusing reproving,
As this very moment
None of your damning dispositions
Can harm my sensations!