Comes a soul, every now and then
fills the cracks with chatters
that later morphed into flirts
they took leaps, I sat with precaution.
As fast as they moved
with manners and masks
I sat still, giving simple tasks
in every package, a torture I've always adored.
As simple as the clues
to gently plant an idea
I'm too cruel, painfully as the lava
so they'll leave soon without feeling the blues.
Comes a realisation later
of unworthiness and bitterness
have been guiding consciousness
as trial and error, I'm worn out for that matter.
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