The old year's nearly over now,
a New Year's on its way.
I sit here at my writing desk,
with no list there on display.
Tradition says to make a list,
it's your bible for the coming year.
To be finished at your leisure,
without feeling shame or fear.
I hold this pencil in my hand,
poised o'er the parchment below.
Wheels are turning in my mind,
yet I've no words to show.
My mind is set, I have to write
the things I want to do.
But try as I might, I can't understand
why my pencil sticks like glue.
My brain's in old-timer's limbo,
while my fingers are tapping the table.
With my head pounding, I feel like I'm drowning,
I can't do this, I don't think I'm able.
My New Year's Resolution list,
will never come to fruition.
A devilish smile crosses my lips,
To HELL with...tradition.
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