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To Condescend One Melancholia

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Can’t you see?



The battles done

Futile and worn



Don’t you know?



It doesn’t do to back down

Deny the choice which was born



It’s easy to tell!



Fate favors the broken

Makes prose out of scorn



Clue in pompous Prozac!



My moods not your toy

Who settles for happy candy when there is salvation to form?



Alright I’ll elaborate!



Angers a poison; that sly sickly red

Leaves me to scatter, infirm and forlorn



And now let me tell you

My time ridden foe



Redemption kept pseudo by capsule or lozenge

Came pure by the cross He adorned





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