I was going to write a sonnet, but I didn't have the gumption First my pen ran out of ink, then my hand just wouldn't function I could not start or stop to think Things were happening in slow motion I felt as though I'd surely sink Into the coldest darkest deepest ocean. I started off fine, my ambition was evident But by the 10th line, I'm debauched and decadent. I hate to write this, my fingers are hesitant, Nothing else in life is, but failure is permanent.