A forgotten thought,
How could it be?
A soliloquy.

My kind, dearest of friends,
My own insufferable greed;
Is it greed, was it greed?
That pulls at me, and coerces me.

As if it were someone else!
I coerce no one but myself,
Far be it from stones thrown
by another, it is my greed.

Greedy to wish things such as this,
For me.

Paint me a picture,
Sing me a song,
Write me a verse,
Or two or a few
Thousand more.

Anything, anything,
To fill this pit.

I dug myself, so they say.
I dug myself, so it is.
I dug myself, to feel like this.

It isn’t
That hard,
Simply put:

My greed is
Everything wrong with me.


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