Some people make me ill

If I have to watch them fill

The air with discolour

I speak of blackness in their hearts

That flows with no end

Bitter clichés and cynicisms

I find hard to bear

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But I don't say anything better

Only the way I feel makes me realize

Just how sick I am

And how hard it would be

To get help here

It is a complex wish

That there could be communication

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But it is for a simple reason

Why it's not so

How can they love others

When they obviously

Do not love themselves?

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