I feel bad…

Feel bad, I speak to the walls of my room.
Can’t lick the deep wounds of my heart 
like that distant body of the moon.
Where should I go, and whom I talk to?
Which door should I knock at, and who opens the doors?
Who would cart the pain of my tiny heart
and who would listen to the pangs of it?
Who would see the sorrow of the eyes
that don’t know how to cry.

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