Is this your inner voice I feared?
Into my mind your nonsense seared
Even more verbose in sequel
Your vanity is without equal

It strikes me as the kind of plot
One pursues in shower thoughts
Arguments won in our head
That lure us smugly into bed

All things end, I'm not absurd
But for the record, rest assured
When Ugrach come collect my debt
I'll whine less than your vignette

Your journey through my hist'ry, though
Is touching in a way, you know
With such knowledge exigent
Are you my fanclub president?

To your critiques I am inured
For in your last work they featured
Everything you said there twice
Here you have refashioned thrice

Not much said when right down to it
Quite the slog just to get through it
Difficult to bear with poise
The love you have for your own voice

Just as the heat of Jeramun
Gives rise to lush Istarion
Send Grandue out to plains of snow
Where his hot air may jungles grow

Here you pen a pleasant fiction
Trademark self-indulgent diction
From whole cloth, conceived and written
Fantasy to get your hits in

Has boredom taken your attention
That you seek humiliation?
Oft I cheer reciprocation
But avoid self-flagellation

Forty-nine verses of projection
It strikes me as deep obsession
You don't wish to keep this course when
I can do this all day, cretin

Penned by my hand on the 2nd of Glacian, in the year 952 AF.