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A Blank Sonnet

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Right now I’m blank
As the page I write on
My idea, in the Ocean of Failure, sank
And I’m grasping for a memory of a song
Half formed thoughts
Run through my mind
But their appealing rots
And I’m forced to leave them behind
What do I do?
What do I write?
It must be true
It must be right
Where’s Shakespeare when needed most?
At this rate, I’m soon to be burnt, black toast



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