To suffer in finding love, and to suffer in
Yet in such pursuits much is overshadowed
What else is such an endeavor, if not futile
For all its fruits are acrid
Those that deny such feelings lie
Like their soul, beneath a sheet of ice
Post pursuit, in shambles
So many,
Splintered, cracked, unwilling, living
What morose tones of humor does life paint
Where we seek such adversity
Only to then succumb and forsake
Rinse and repeat, to break down again
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