I really hate myself today
for being so unable to control myself
I have once again make those ugly spells
at the feeble innocent wrinkled maid
She has done something out of date
but yet not severe enough to overturn all of her past good
deeds, maybe, scolding her is like a punishment to myself rather than to her I should
have seen it in the other way round: both of us ache
The true thing, the miserable core I intend to tell
is, I have imprisoned myself in the open land
with no bars, no strong men
to lock me up in the the bare, just, only dessert, stamping on nothing else but sand
itchy sand, which was once water
only after we have drained too much that it becomes so dehydrated
me so frustrated, tired
the best is to stay in the gutter
Alas, love and everything in everywhere stale
miserable, cause I only have narrow vision on love staleness
what else?
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