Mister Rotten

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I attempt to belong as a hunter, someone standing apart from your entity,
to restrain tautological blunders; yield myself to the sedative’s lenity.
I attempt to belong as a seeker, be of significance on my own right,
but contrary to all these endeavours… I collide with my own despite.

I whip myself on like a horse, trusting failure to be hematobic,
advancing excessive wars, self-sufficient and misanthropic.
under pressure of ceaseless wantage, I obsess about being faultless,
yet I’m at absolute disadvantage, unmindful if I endorse this.

what I yearned for was amelioration, which resulted in mere destruction,
acknowledgement depravation and idiosyncratic ruction.
I attempt to belong but I fade… and omit public consolation.
I deplore, lament and bewail final bane of our joint equation.

I surpass overt expectations and reach the extreme of my tether.
still, embracing representations of syncopally heady heather
you tyrannize my archetype and foil every sole singularity,
resulting in the absurdity of my cerebral parity.
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