Woebegone

So finally, after much effort, I have managed to put up my life story on this blog. ‘Tis a sad, sad story and I seek your pardon for its depressing nature. I implore you to pray with me so that no other living soul may go through this perilous fate!

_/\_

 

 

A long long time ago, on a warm, bright summer of sorts,
Handsome a youth, entered my life, and stole my beating heart.
Admirers all the way he ignored, and straight he sat on his seat,
While I expressed a deep felt gratitude to the almighty for this feat.
 
For, he was not an ordinary creation like you and me, my friends.
Sleek, stylish, serious he was. Filled with jewels of uncommon sense.
His face glowed when he awoke, and never grew he tired of the day.
Yet on the darkest of nights, if awakened, he’d still shimmer away.
 
Love at first sight it was for me, I could behold him for hours together,
Nervous he made me, I stammered at him, he ignored me altogether.
So I screwed my courage to the sticking place, dignified, my approach.
He looked at me, and his face dimmed, he treated me with reproach.
 
I swallowed my pride, and went up to him, his forehead I gently kissed.
he grew dark and hot, he shocked me, and my eyes were shrouded by a mist.
Yet, relentless was I, sat by his feet, and loved him with all I could muster.
He spurned my advances, ignored my existence, laughed at my pleading stutter.
 
His derision I accepted bravely, tears I hid and with a sad, hurt spirit I pleaded,
But he stopped responding to me, and I cried more even as his scorn receded.
And then a day came, when he fell ill, for he wouldn’t awaken whatever I did.
So I called the expert, who deemed him sick, and carried him off to his clinic.
 
I waited for my love outside his room, and prayed for his health and recovery.
But the expert kept him for longer and longer, much to my despair and worry.
Finally one day he was returned to me and I helped him settle back into his place.
But now he was angry, he pushed me away. My very warmth was to his distaste.
 
And now my woeful tale comes to an end. An end designed by me in depression.
I bought a stout rope from the nearby market, and from it, a noose I fashioned.
Messy are the tangles of unreciprocated love. For not once did my love lovingly see me.
Enough had I seen of life I decided and accepted, that “Alas! My computer hates me!”
   
 
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