Come, hear the severity of my plight,
One that no other writer can rival
My words, my only means of survival,
Betray me and lead to my greatest fright
For others can adorn their heart’s delight
Yet my own tools fail, a constant cycle
For soon they become blunted and idle,
For how can the sightless describe starlight.
Is it not the cruellest of ironies,
That the one who can never hear my song
Is the only one I want to sing for,
Is it not the cruellest of ironies,
That what countless others say makes me strong,
Will be my greatest curse forevermore.
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