Strumming pains of memories,
stifling the air around.
Pressing months of sick thoughts,
tarnishing angelic mounds.
Weary of two-faced monsters,
hounding my front and back.
Angry at the mass oblivion,
sincerity's what they lack.
Patience is a well-known virtue,
something I do not possess.
Return of a flat retort,
nothing more nothing less.
So once again I say to you,
let these words be your cue.

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