Here we go again I’ve got no words
Nothing but a vacant stare
I’d like to write a decent rhyme
But so far nothing’s there
Writer’s block has got me chopped
Like It has guillotined my head
Words spill out in bloodless drips
Become a basket case instead
Still, there’s reason in this rhyme I think
If you read it twice or thrice
It’s what one gets when one’s beheaded
When one kneels down for the splice
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