Inventing the sickness
while convincing others
until they convince
one another,
they beliieve your fall
under the illness,
the guise under which
you couldn't be fulfilled less.
You stand in the corner
preaching your sadness,
a sick game in which you sickly
find superior gladness.
Soon enough they all
fawn over your soul,
you poor little thing,
you hideous little troll.
The game you play
is safe enough
until the fantasy becomes real
as it becomes too rough
and the last tear for you
is finally shed
only by your own eye
on your own deathbed.
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