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.