'tis precious little fun to mope
when there's no one there to see
wiping away brave little tears
to an audience of... just me
making do with one's own shirtsleeves
when hankies are in short supply
to blow much reddened noses
who seem averse to running dry
i could hold my breath till i turn blue
punch my fists into the ground
but histrionics are so robbed of joy
when no one is around
to bask in well intended sympathy
holds contentment beyond measure
to watch guilty parties writhe and squirm
a harmless evil pleasure
so to my lower lip i give free reign
to quiver and pout i set it free
being miserable isn't half as bad
as some make it out to be
to go without spectators
may seem an awful curse
but when all else fails its good to know
that things could always be verse
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