Hanging outdent

Year 2368.
Formatting poetry is still an exasperating
experience causing intense and localized
                                                     discomfort.

P-I-T-A? We don’t say that anymore.
Hey, where are you going now?

                                       You
know better than to run off without
me.            
                    Oh, come on!
                                             Behave.

And I won’t ever make you hang
                                                 here.