An Ode to Flappy Bird (in Sonnet Form)
The passions thou inspirest in me are as hot
But summer, in its endless glory, makes me rather gay
Whereas thine sensitivity makes’t me wish to get shot.
Betwixt green channels I hope you soar
My thumb’s mere press sends you amongst pipes
But now, as for ornithology, I cannot study it any more
I must empty the birdfeeder, for I have some gripes.
Double digits evade me; my maximum score won’t rise
I tap and tap, will thou not reward my labors?
I am addicted - I must play - I shant compromise
Or shall I? I have had enough. Your uninstalling I savor.
AND NOW, STUPID GAME, I DEMAND TO BE HEARD
THIS IS WHAT I HAVE TO SAY: FUCK YOU, FLAPPY BIRD.