I see the same roof everyday,

And nothing changes when I feel the touch of the surface underneath,

I loathe the same faces, whose eyes expose shiny, animated dollar signs,

And the cowardice that surrounds the atmosphere is so powerful, that battles are fought each day so that my purity may still exist.

I excuse myself, in the ending of sessions, surreptitiously looking around, behind and ahead.

The thing that I covet is out of reach, floating, protected, past murky waters I will never touch again even if I wanted to.

She told her friends, “Sit in the rain and let my sorrow have respite today.”

But they would not let me, I sat there drowning in the unspeakable, unseeable wave of sadness.

What I want is nothing now, because I know too much,

Too much and sometimes nothing, and I’m sad to the point of, to the point of complete madness.

So what am I fighting and why are my instincts pushing me to fight it?

I fear the unknown and possibly the nonexistent.



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