Concessional Condition: 16th Year
Am I simply a repulsive force,
That disperses all whom I may enjoy sharing company with?
They remain blissfully unperturbed by my annoyance,
Yet where does that leave me? A spent husk
Discarded and left abroad to stave off my own
Dispositional pleasure.
A warm debilitating tear beneath an eyelid
Fears to vacate it's womb,
Never has it felt so unmistakably cold.
But again, I rise to the next day,
And the untestable time of the former hours
Are notwithstanding an apparition of my greatest fears.
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