Para/Poem Challenge "Open"

Insidious
Customable
Haught
Liege
Parity
Adhere

My poetic bone is broken.
Internal haught of haughtier
Does naught but bring a sigh
And parity of pride predicts
The wounded pen's deep cry
While I while away the hours
With insidious words on high.
The cure is surely customable
And probably combustible.
My liege would doubtless buy it
If he did but know.
(Yet lords are hard to find,
In these,
Our times of woe.)
Having not received a scrip
From doctors not yet found
I must just adhere to script
And throw my pen right down.

(THE END)