There is no reasoning.
There is little left with meaning.
There are days, and hours, and minutes creeping by.
And rare as peace the times,
When the night does not contain your face
When I forget your hands and your smothering taste.
Moments exist, in spaces solitary
Thoughts of hope I know won't carry,
Beneath the vastness, vague and far;
Beyond this ever present vale so dark.
There is no feeling.
There is life that leaves me reeling.
There are twinges and bits of painless numb.
There are parts and a whole that is a zero sum.
There is no understanding choice.
There is no quieting the wailing voice.
There will always be a fear of why.
There will always be more pain than eyes may cry.
There is no reasoning.
There is nothing left with meaning.
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