Poetic Assassination

I want to create something brilliant, make my mark, produce something so spectacular: It’s in a different ball-park. But I have no inclination how to achieve my masterpiece, so the spawn of my mind is already deceased. My words don’t function, when I have urges to right. Serious messages to convey, but my metaphors aren’t write. I can’t keep to a rhyme scheme, cos I’m off on a day-dream and when it comes to structure - puncture! ‘Ability’ deserts me, strands me with the dull. I’m just another number to add to poetry’s cull.