To Whom am I

Writing for the sufferer

Weights for the social loser

Mountains to climb for the madman

Music for the emotionally sensitive

Netflix, wives, and husbands for the soul robbed workers

Alcohol for the man that has nothing

Nothing for the recluse who wants nothing

Whatever consoles is based out of who you are

To whom suffers and sees all the winding roads laid in front of him, needs consoled through understanding and accepting. 

The power of the sufferer

To whom was rejected by people, needs consoled through re-shaping their identity.

A healthy egotism

The power of the social loser

To whom the plains of the Midwest weren’t enough, needs consoled through the mountains.

The power of the madman

To whom the world was bland and unmysterious, needs consoled through the enigma of music.

The power of the emotionally sensitive

To whom soul was robbed, needs consoled through a personal life insulated from work.

And if marriage isn’t possible, alcohol is the great consoler

The power of the soul-robbed-workers

To whom wants nothing, needs consoled by a hermetic life in the woods

The power of the man who wants nothing

All these winding paths laid in front of me

Now which do I choose

If I must choose, it has already been chosen

To whom am I but a sufferer

This is my seemingly frivolous power

The cries of a sufferer


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