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Loneliness
February 28, 2016
It is a disease
For which there is no cure
That I can procure
It does not rid with ease
Not with peas, nor teas, not with smell of fresh trees, nor the sound of buzzing bees, no substance to fill the void
Just alone a devoid of spirit and soul
A human not quite whole
Unfulfilled without love and care
Guessing that is just the way it is, that is my price, my fare
The weight becomes so much to bare... You can almost hear the spine tear
© Anonymous
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