Penitence

I struggle to form basic thoughts

I cannot make a start;

For I am sick and sorrowful

And weary in my heart

 

I find I no purpose to my days,

And everywhere I go

I cast but dancing shadows with

My little puppet show

 

The package says that I’m improved

But with defects I’m rife;

For I’ve grown wan and haggard and

Remorseful

For

My life

 

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