"Give me more", my hunger rages, 8
Write the rhymes and rip the pages. 8

Leave the rhythm, change the rhyme, 7
But wait, a syl-label was lost. 8
I think the comma helped this time. 8
And hyphens are a petty cost. 8

Now change the rhythm, but keep with the rhyme. 10
The line was sped, so not much lost. 8
I'll have to bring it back this time; 8
It seems the rhythm's shown its cost. 8

Worth was the word that I wanted to use. 10
I forced the rhyme, went back to ten. 8
Then broke my knees to beg the muse, 8
And made it back to eight again. 8

Oh muse, thou hast forsaken me, 8
Resorting to archaic words. 8
Perhaps cliche will set me free; 8
I'll write of love and trees and birds. 8

Or maybe I should write of death, 8
A noble knight that bravely fell. 8
Put wisdom in his final breath, 8
Like pennies in a wishing well. 8

I'm trapped inside the paper cell, 8
My self-created poet's hell. 8