I bring my thumbs to a screeching halt,
realizing my twiddling is my own fault.
This boredom, nay creativity in a vault,
What to do repeats till this mind faults.
The lack of ability separates sanity,
and this heart heavy with panicky.
Must do something else without fallacy,
must break this ridiculous vanity.
My options seem so small,
I must break through to them all,
like before when my position would fall,
and my intellect no longer would crawl.
Must hit the ground running,
No matter how funny,
the ideas I find must not be shunning,
this man with limited money!