How does one write a sonnet I wonder?

I imagine it as a daunting task

My pride is quite sure to fall asunder

And well, frankly I am afraid to ask

What is an iambic pentameter?

Such a strange thing it really seems to me

It well and truly is a brain beater

And yet other poets write easily!

I hear it also needs a common theme

But that could well be very hard to do

I guess this shall remain a fever dream

It seems the only outcome is to lose

Why do I bother? I question a lot

Really the drivel I write is such rot

That damned fool walks about with an aura of despair

As well he should!

The nerve of him leaving the house with that hair.

Clutching a wimpy single rose, alone just like he

He makes his way on down the street

He's truly embarrassing to see

The rose was shoved back into his hands by a girl much above his station

A wise decision on her part

For he himself was the cause of his own frustration

For any fool should know that when a girl is yours,

yours and yours alone

YOU DON'T SLEEP WITH ANOTHER ONE INSIDE OF HER OWN HOME!

As I sit here and begin to think

(As my mind so often seems to want to do)

Once again

(and inevitably)

My thoughts turn toward you.

Oh how often I yearn and I long for a break!

For my overactive head, continuously,

causes my poor wretched heart to break!

A world once so populated and alive

Is now so empty and bare!

All because, for me, you are no longer there.

The sun has died and all warmth is gone;

Nature has been emptied, void of the birds and their song!

And the truth of it all still pains me so,

Because you forgot me a long long time ago.

I prefer to be amongst the stars and sky

Life is so easy way on high

With the twist of a wrist I soar above mountains and lakes

To be one with machine is all that it takes

I dive and roll with the birds at my side

My love for this I can not pretend to hide

Those below can never know

The utter joy this heaven brings me so