Let down. A poem.

I’m let down, again.

Every letdown compiling
like a coded compunction,
in synapses despoiled
by repetition and disfunction.
Swarmed and overloaded,
categorised and goaded.

Too many times to make
sense of it all.

Letdown, like so many times before.
Who has any tears left to cry?

And why bother
to even try.

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