Laments of a Poetically Bankrupt Man

Math molded me to be precise

Needs a language succinct and concise

Flowery words they leave me a-gasping

Poetic dementia that robbed me of feelings.

Oh the Muse how can I woe?

When poetic words refused to flow

Words intended to make her heart go fonder

Comes out stale, bland, and bitter.

Tis’ emotions that sustain fire

That either lift hearts or sink deeper in mire

Emotions I vehemently denied to takeover

Feelings that I deliberately murder.

To their deathly hold I rid off me

To spare me of existence’s agony

Such as this so hefty a price:

A poetic man’s demise.

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