Poetry

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Stoicism bashed harbours gash anew  like a gorge in summer;
Each rivulet deferred dream rising from the abyss full of lithe,

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Like dashing waves disgorging the shore retreating whimsical
I ponder in sobriety the futility of my multifarious overtures,

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Chud! Chud! Chud!
Up and down
Shallow ground
Seething smell of gasoline
I bear

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I want to scream to the heavens but I know you aren't there I want to beg you to help me but I know you don't care

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Happiness cannot be seen.
Happiness is like dust that float around.
Often times I wonder
How I can see happiness