Half a poem-

Master of half finished poetry
living life listlessly
devoted simplicity
I move with a grace unique
surviving spitefully
the elegant swordplay that doesn't quite finish me
that existence truly means
from the scene of the crime
the birth of my time
all the way through my fights
to the end of the line
where I lose my mind
for sheer lack of leftover rhymes
defeated by paper remaing dry
of ink to display all of what
I am chronicled coming to such
yellowed sheets that I someday
shall be buried beneath
in the name of the semi filled page
and unturned phrase regrettfully
as a triumphant flash of steel
spills ebbing vitality
the simple loss for words
obliterating me
in a fashion
only I can see
fault of work incomplete...