So this was a challenge to play with space,
      Here I’m writing this poem trying to meddle with some words,
               In a pathetic attempt, to make some text sound nice.
                        But what I don’t get, why does it matter if it doesn’t rhyme?

                              My grandfather was a poet, and so was I
                        Atleast that’s what I thought, many years ago
                But as time went by, I just realized
        Nothing more than a few lame words
Calling it poetry as an alibi.

    I don’t know why I’m even writing this
          I’ve got lot of work to do and lack of imagination
              Yet I’m just sitting here passing time
                   Maybe I feel the need to write something not making sense
                       But ain’t I do that always?

                             So here I’m just messing around with the editor
                          Mashing some buttons begging me not to
                    I feel the need to write one more line
               Or maybe it’s just I just want this to look
          A DNA of drunken words
     Need to work harder for time doesn’t wait
But heck I’ll do what I want anyways.