Sympathy
I met a young man
Who was verbally dead,
Inside a text bubble
That wept in our head.
He thought rhyme juvenile,
That no one would care;
His hands turned to claws
And he tore at my hair.
A snake in the garden
Afraid of the fall,
He lit up a smoke
And he started to crawl.
Seems que*r all he wanted
Was someone to love,
Like the edge of a cliff
And the push of a shove.
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