Vain Strife

Whenever I sit down to think,
With my eyes not caring to blink,
I feel sore at heart,
Like a wounded rat,
That things I hold most dear,
Has been overwhelmed by fear

Looking back over the years,
I sigh at the very many ways,
Affliction has affected my soul,
And drifted me far from my goal,
Making me a worthless being,
In the household I have been

Do you not appreciate me,
I do often ask she,
For the many good things I do,
Yet she replies with a boo,
Throwing me from her sight,
Not caring an ounce about my plight.

"I am human," I mutter,
Why do you push me to the gutter,
Treating me with such disdain,
Which shouldn't be taken in vain,
Caution turned into hate,
What do you suppose be my fate?

Sitting down I cry,
On my face I lie,
My source of happiness you destroy,
By every means you employ,
Every night my voices echo,
Oh! Why do you treat me so? 

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