Wanting what it seems everybody else has.
Reaching, ever stretching to attain more.
longing for what is just out of grasp.
Thirsty for what the eyes spy
upon someone else’s table
for this cup holds
the abominable liquid of acrimony.
Cynical of all happiness,
as joy is ever out of reach.
When lovers kiss within sight,
anger sears a bitter,
empty spot where once a heart did beat.
Evermore must bleeding fingers snatch;
never enough can the clutched hands hold.
Bitterness mires the soul.
18 lines long
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