Not Much

Got not much to write about,

that ain't been done before.

Got not much I've figured out.

Can't think clear anymore.

A riddled thought, a puzzling place,

a rhyme that we've all heard.

Perhaps quite best to let it slide,

without one single word.


I've got this heart, it's hurtin' bad,

where life's a trying script.

I bled the pride that churned inside,

but no one caught my drift.

So now I think I'm on the brink,

of fading out of view.

To come alive and then arrive,

that's all I'd tried to do.


Would not you say I'm just CLICHE,

throughout the whole darn day?

Those sweeter rhymes, from time to time,

still long to come in play.

But I'm quite sure that no one cares,

so maybe I'll just dream.

To say one tried, but got denied.

That's such a commom theme.

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