i look at the blank screen on the page
it fills me with rage, its like i’m locked in a cage
you must write a colorful story, and make sure its not beige
i write in my voice but it feels like i have no choice and
i keep spitting these rhymes, as hopeless as i may be
but when i hand in my stories, i pray it wont be a tragedy
but its so sad to see, i’ll gladly use repetition
and at times its like i’m following the doctors prescription
and its written, its literature, its an inscription
after taking so many writing courses
and writing about pakistan and the horses
ok, i must flee quick, before the cops catch me
a madman on the loose ha ha hee hee

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