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.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 9:07 AM UTC
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.
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