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Allergic

Edmund W.

When you’re bored,

When you’re glad,

Thrilled or scared,

You talk. 


In a crowd;

With your friends;

All alone;

You talk. 


Surely you must feel fulfilled

From the chatter, banter that you’ve spilled. 

Why else would you keep doing it?

That’s why I keep pursuing it—

Seeking satisfaction,

Joy that swells like drums. 


Only that joy never comes. 


Surrounded by voices, noises overwhelm  

Too many choices choke this color-caught realm. 

Well-meant is my quest to fill this need;

Seldom is my chance to ever succeed. 

Seeking satisfaction,

Joy that swells like drums. 


Only that joy never comes. 


Like a bee afraid of honey,

A car repulsed by gas—

When you’re allergic to your own,

How will this too pass?

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