The ideas are here,
but so’s the pain,
it’s making me feel rather wan.
It’s not a perfect rhyme,
but give me time.

Why do poems have to rhyme?
A poem doesn’t have to rhyme,
just as long as it makes the reader
spend time.

Time is great, but waste it not. 
Rather, make haste, and buy a yacht.
I’ve no idea where I’m going with this,
my hands are fucked, my brain is worse.
Why the fuck do I have this curse?!

Chronic pain, illness, I can’t do this! 
That’s all I think,
and it’s starting to stink. 
For two years I’ve had this, and now I can barely sling some ink.

What’s with the long line? 
I dunno, but it’s breakfast time. 
I’m gonna snack on a banana. 
Might give some mana.