Pitiful weakling
think of the poor widow’s son
lost at sea
how dare you call
your slight affliction
misery
say you’re a week behind
and more
Say that to those stuck
in the last century
you don’t yet know
the least touch
of misery
all will lose all
all come to the
same estate
it is the cause and end
of all misery
the wiping of the slate
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