Bleh

Just fourteen lines, that's all I have to write
But just today, that seems like quite a lot.
I wound up staying up too late last night
For no good reason, later than I ought
At anytime; but graveyard work before
Has discombulated me entire.
Today was just a waste; I feel the score
Is Wednesday ten, Kate zero. I'm no liar:
A sonnet is not something that I want
To do right now, but habits do die hard
And though naught happened that I'd care to vaunt
Iambically, it's what I do. So here: this empty shard
Of poesy, a placeholder. I do
Apologize, but that's the state that's true.