Depressive Thoughts – 1

People always hate me once they know me,

And so, I hide behind this pseudonym —

I’m only worth what I can give to others:

In dollars, or, perhaps, in apothegm

 

I sit here, mangled, ineffective, mordant;

I spray these useless songs into the air —

I long for harmony, but am discordant;

I wish that you were here, or I was there

 

I’d sacrifice myself if it would save you;

To know with fond recall I would be held —

At least remembered for the things I gave you,

And not for times I fretted, moped,

Or yelled

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