I think I've contracted 'Long Poetry.'

It started a good while ago.

At first it was a mild disease,

Consisting of just the odd line or two,

With nothing much to show.

But, now it's coming out in stanzas

And in great long turgid verse. 

I think it's a type of diarrhoea, 

Or, maybe it's something even worse!

Words keep on pouring out of me

In the form of poetic dysentery.

I can't stop these couplets from coming! 

 

I little thought that literary constipation

Would be such a source of celebration...

 

My life's now in thrall to a poetic muse, 

Which taunts me day and night. 

At two in the morning I turn on the light. 

I have one more poem I need to write!

But, I never seem to get my rhymes right.

I'm rapidly losing the will for the fight.

 

Doctor, can you please help me with this plight? 

There must be a cure for these symptoms,

A palliative to ease all this pain, 

Or a sedative to help me to get some sleep, 

Before 'Long Poetry' attacks me again!