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WRETCHED

 Their smiles hide layers of sadness,

Their mouths crave the warmth of food,

Oh and the ears long for sweet nothings,

The legs are tired of the wet and dusty bases,

Their brains wait impatiently for the next high,

Their bodies aren’t sure whether to love or hate touch,

Their tongues are tired of talking with no aim,

Sleep to them is a luxury accorded to God’s chosen,

To them the mere idea of a God is diabolical,

They watch and stare at strangers as their sanity is judged,

Or at least what is left of it,

As a sane person can’t suffer that long without taking the short cut,

Such is the life of the wretched.

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