My iPad is almost dead
But I have 13% in my head
It can't be time for bed
The warning light's in the red

No time for perfect rhyme
For meter, patterns in time

     .  .  .  

I erased over half my poem, but with now only 6% remaining and the breath within me draining, the cruel irony is apparent the problems I have are inherent.
In the words of Robert Burns, "The best laid schemes of mice and men .  .  ."  0% remaining!