Strangers on the Net

I'll believe whatever you say.

We are practically strangers, anyway.

You are rhyming, I see

Singing colloquial epiphany.

Considering you are playing along, 

I don't think I did anything wrong.

And who knows what's wrong, what's right

Such is the whim of a deadpan night.

And, that would be an excellent status, I'd say,

 Also, you sound terribly forlorn, if I may.

That's the beauty of words, you know

Sometimes they darken and sometimes they glow.

Words are amusement of kinds,

Like this odd conversation, I feel, if you don't mind.

Odd is one, three, five and seven

It may still find a place in heaven.

And this could go on all Night,

 But would you want it to become Trite?

No, I would say, because it's late

And tomorrow I would need a clean slate

But this should go in a facebook note, if you want

The world must read such hackneyed rant.