I hope there is the world
Where you will come to a semblance of being complete
I know it's not okay to defeat your mental health, making your eyes bleed
It may be excruciating, more than I can imagine
To blame oneself for some other's sin
You may be cursing, yelling, blaming, and screaming to the universe,
Your throat might be throbbed, singing the next verse
When everything out in the sun depreciates you to the blue
When you crave for appreciation, but every time it turns to due
But a minute inconvenience is discerned for your surroundings
Yet you are stoic to pelting, even if it has harsh landings
My dear mates, I wish you a moisture for your anvils
I know you are crippled but assume your enchanting real smile
That'd be ethereal, even to devils
Let's just sway your angst, why not make a dish?
Oh my dearies, self-love isn't selfish.

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