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Yes, there was a time I was obsessed by melancholy, I saw deep sadness, The quality that so tormented My former favoured idols, Poets, painters, Musicians, actors, Creators of every kind,
Look at her, Like, you want to praise herAnd not chase herRender her at sightThat makes her face brightIf your look is nullThat will make her Dull
And it was then were in the cavern of insolence where he was kept All that was deemed unfit and of akin to detriment on the male spectrum As channeled into his being. The ritual left him full of woe and without reason
There is naught but a whisper A tendril of hair A piece of mind And a tail of dispair Here be red splatters Dead matter Sleepless powers Overwhelming, it cowers
This poem is a conversation between a mother and her child, relaying to each other the woes of college life.