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Saturday, 19 April 2025

The pathetic object

I can’t be loved
There are people like that—
miserable ones
Maybe it’s just bad luck.
Who knows? I don’t.
I don’t understand.
Some broken equation of pity
and too broken ego?
People like me—
they cool off eventually.
Like dead,
collapsed average-sized stars
that didn’t have enough mass,
not enough hunger,
not enough selfishness
to draw in hypocritical,
self-interested love-bound planets
and burn out together.
People like me live alone
die alone, and in the end,
evaporate without colour,
without trace or destruction—
bland even in death.




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Copyright © 2009-2023 J. Nemakar. All rights reserved. This notice asserts your legal ownership of the work and your exclusive right to reproduce, distribute, and publicly display it. Including the year of creation and your name helps identify you as the creator of the work, which can be important in the event of any legal disputes. By using this notice, you are putting others on notice that you are claiming copyright protection for your work and that they cannot use it without your permission. Minden jog fenntartva. Az oldalon található szövegek a saját munkáim. Szerzői jog védelme alatt állnak. További felhasználásuk nem engedélyezett.

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