The words of kin
Stroll away
From their reckless lips

Burdening my ears
With their piercing
Toll of disdain

I grow lifeless and firm
In their cold
Blackened swill

Beneath hapless notions
Coiling and crushing
My lone call to arise

My skull overflows
With the worries and whims
Of faceless passersby

With the frayed songs
Of perfect strangers
I am full and sick
On their boundless
First-world sorrows