Under a broken May moon
I can’t seem to cease to ponder on debts to brood.
In a stuffy, dull or dumpy room
And In a vulnerable mood, of savage cares I lose interest in food.
At mid night and sleepless, I idle away the hours listlessly on bed of wood.
Contemplating on fruitless ideas, I toss and turn restlessly on a pillow weep of wool.
Grieved, fatigued by distressing circumstances ruining my young life:
Suddenly, in a fit of despair, of ugly tragedies and at dawn, I am burnt out with desire to live!


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