My habitual dolour…

In the colossal depths of my reveries,

I see aches and wounds and filth,

My self stained with spleen,

And the rejections I’ve been blessed amply with.

Colliding with souls in haze and haste,

Do I know where I am destined?

My maiden thoughts about the world so chaste,

My doleful encounters doth have ruined.

Launched and lounged in another tale of woe,

My stories seem not to halt,

Inviting my sorrows for a hot joe,

For discussing a fair record of (my) faults.

Deserted I stand as the world paces,

Drowning in suffocating thoughts

I see all those masked faces

To loathe their unmasked self my words fall short.

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