The unwanted
The plangent sounds of death near;
There is no harmony for me here.
I am robed with the habiliments of fate;
This world is full of niggling hate.
I am the bete noire of this world;
I hide in my corner crouched and curled.
The quidity of my life is an ineluctable fight;
I dwell in the darkness of the sable night.
I have no doubt; there is only one way out.
Not a soupcon of mercy is here for me;
There’s no reason for living, no reason to be.
Not even in the labyrinth of my mind;
Is there any peace for me to find.
The world has shut its little door;
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