By Will Caraccio 

I’m feeling senioritis.

I don’t want to write this. 

A poem in itself should grip the reader’s mind,

But as I sit and write, empty words are all I find. 

A noun, a verb, an adjective here and there, 

It doesn’t really matter and I don’t really care. 

To take up the page is my primary goal 

Already halfway there, man I’m on a roll.

For many other poems, at this point your heart is bleeding,

For this unique creation, instead you wonder: what the hell am I reading? 

The answer to your question, of course is not so base,

Just kidding, it is, I just wanted to take up space. 

Looks like our time is up, now the poems is ending,

I could say I was sad, but I would surely be pretending. 

imagine a profound conclusion, something happy, something neat,

I won’t write one of course, you’re welcome for this treat.