I am the piteous soul,
The intruder of tranquility,
The disruptor of stability,
And useless, with no real goal.
I am an inconvenience,
An unplanned burden incurred,
A financial drain to be suffered,
With no right for my defense.
I'm nothing, if not a thief,
Stealing others' private memories,
Imposing on generosities,
Selling hopes of relief.
I must feign an improvement,
Around those who expect a changed state,
And hope for a most prosperous fate,
Despite sadness and lament.
No comments:
Post a Comment