Robin Williams how I hated you

I could go on for hours
About Patch Adams

Mrs. Doubtfire, pretty well
Any vehicle for his patented

Mania showcasing his rubber

And I just now saw you had died

And had a little apnea,

Because you died of sadness,
Because I never considered you as Human

Just a raving para-lunatic

So I extend, with all of the horrible People, my disgust

And ask that its thorns be cut,
That it blooms into empathy—

That you are sleeping deeply on a bed Of these queer roses

And sadness dead.

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