There is a longing in my heart,

That weighs me down so,

In sluggish ways I drag behind,

Those with conquered dreams,

Fortune,

Love,

And bliss.

As I miss out on all of this,

I burn a fever of desire,

Cramp with intolerance,

Plagued with ill health,

Preventing me from blossoming into my true self.

Ailments anchor me,

Fractures imprison me,

My tune is off key,

I wreak of mortality,

As I claw my way through the storm.

A little flame burns on,

Not yet engulfed,

Nor defeated,

But the tide drifts further away each day,

The odds are not in my favour,

I may be a fighter,

But a betting man would gamble me away.

To the melancholy strings of my heart,

I sway,

As I battle on,

Weak or strong,

It seems that I am not yet done.

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