Too Close to the Deadline

I sit here and stare with weary eyes,

As my dull, sludgy brain attempts to devise,

To create, to compose, to poeticize,

A scrap of verse worth a Nobel Prize;

But so far I've only been mesmerized,

By the glowing green screen of Protagonize.

Why I entered, I cannot surmise,

They said it was good mental exercise,

But I simply cannot conceptualize,

A single stanza of any size,

This torment — I mean tournament! — will be my demise.

I'll likely have to be hospitalized,



To remove from my head all these rhymes I despise,

Before they mutate and metastasize.

I sit here and stare with weary eyes,

As the house echoes with my desperate cries,

But this poem just won't materialize,

Because I can't find another rhyming


The End

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