"I hate that past. I hate it!"
"So, it seems. But how do you feel?"
"Hated."
"Why?"
"Hate it."

These are the words of an annoying patient. He always held his words so high but resonate so low to him. These are the words, they are here. We're all welcome! Oh, forgive me; I'm trying to help him. That much he wants, this little. Somehow it seemed so much I could do; but it was just a token of misbelief. 

"Got any words to say, Genie?"
"Of course, here's one:"
Clouds and rain, fall from ground;
Let these grievings let fall to part,
You have soiled the soul in you, sure;
I am sure I can give material farts,
Yet comes deny a matter found;

Oh, linger here! Look back in past,
Ah, see the ages of how soon ye grown!
Give a girl, give a boy! Give this and that,
A trillion pounds; a billion frowns!
What comes yea fast thus parts yea fast.

Much to your grief, this too is true,
Yet hope is no Earthly gain
And begets more a Godly gain!
So breathe in slow, accept how sane,
Before your task is done and through.

Recite your wrongs once more,
For I too am wrong for you,
What you need is walk and air,
So easy and free, as one and two,
Amongst ye yet as hard as law!
"Spare me the words, I'll hear no more of it!"
"But-"

I left that bloody place in place and in thought. Paying this much for prose and rhyme could lay yea much my pose and time. No clock would soothe me, no cock to fill me. I am the muser of giver's arts, and am short of breathless troubled sucks. These are the times I live, but my angst and downers grieve me here. I am gentle in streets, yet demon and ravenous in bed! I seek the glory. I seek the pleasure! I breathe my word, yet sing in action! So have sympathy, my kindred foe - ye demon sought is feeble bought! No, not neurotic, just me. He-

He accidentally kicked my lamp,
I was sure this much happen again,
Well, it's true he's troubled here,
But sorely his calls are a feign!
A blood clot? Heart so damp?

Fear not! Let go of gold so white,
If not, it could just be sullen fight!
And if I may be so damn too right,
You ought to be much singing blight!
Leave the sphere; my lamp comes bright.

Never return, if what's ought to shed!
No sultan, no shah, no king and prince!
None would reject my Earthly wishes!
I give all, I cannot wince!
I see them through, though I head.

These are most of the times, even through texts and calls, and posts on net, draw us in. The genie cannot help us, so help we ourselves.

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