To tired to write,
Afraid the bed bugs may bite,
My head swims with confusion,
So I've come to this conclusion,
It's completely daft deary,
To write when your weary,
Seriously, why should I even try,
My lack of rhymes is making me cry,
Takes so long to think of anything,
When your eyes do naught but sting,
The only way you stay awake,
Is if you don't make this certain mistake,
Cause you see, on that last line,
My head began to whine,
And I just could not think,
Why sweat makes such a big stink,
Even there I couldn't keep going,
My mind is quite slowing,
Maybe I should go to bed,
Not keep writing instead.
I really thought I should leave it there,
Cause my rear is hurt by this chair,
But I just couldn't stop this muttering,
Even if my engine is sputtering,
My engine is my brain you see,
And it's now as mad as it can be,
Cause I just won't go to sleep,
Plus I just keep thinking to deep,
There actually might be an issue,
Forced rhyming and a tissue,
But please ask no more,
Thinking now has become a chore,
I still should really finish,
Before my brain begins to diminish,
My vision is starting to blur,
Does sore bottom have a cure?
Author notes
Yes, I am to tired to really think of a good poem, and my rear does hurt something fierce. I didn't want to even end it there, but I knew nobody would want to read it if I went on and on and on and on, not to mention, at the end I started not to make sence...
Tell me what you think
Comments
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This is an interesting poem, my love. The last part did not really make that much sense, but I understand because I know you were tired. Keep up the good wrights. Love you so much!!!! *Kisses and Hugs*
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I think you were to tired to comment lil lady...
"I really thought I should leave it there,
Cause my rear is hurt by this chair,"
Rear... arse... butt... whatever... does it make sence now?
Don't forget honey, wrights, is a last name of the people I think that invented the first air craft, Writes is what you were looking for
love you 
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