You can go to the left,
You can go to the right,
But I go to the middle,
I'm like a Picasso painting,
In the midst of a scribble,
Act like the problem is little,
But the virus is big and brittle,
It's brutal and screwed up,
It hampers the common person,
Makes the situation worsen,
It makes it hard to breathe,
Hard for a student to conceive,
For a backstabber to deceive,
It leaves paralytic symptoms,
I remember having it once,
When it came to writing poems,
I felt like a paraplegic,
Like give me some support,
Because I'm going to need it,
Give me inspiration and hope,
Hope to write a good poem,
Hope to wash this virus like soap,
There is a vaccine with this virus,
It was both lyrical and psychological,
Yet it wasn't pharmacological,
I found the cure and got better,
How do you like that?
I began to rise to the top,
Like a psychological top hat,
I began writing genuine,
And I began to shine,
I developed some sort of confidence,
With my writing I felt like I had immortality,
The vaccine is simply originality...
