The world is already completely bitter:
The taste of your tears would
be unbearable if I were not already so
utterly overwhelmed with acridness.
Its a struggle to sneak a smile
Onto your features, so marred with
Discontent and dissatisfaction.
Its not joy that makes your eyes glitter.
But my sensitivity of your crisis
is fading completely, blurred against
Your many cries of wolf and your
Questioning of fates every hand.












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