So we move about life,
Where will I be soon?
Shortly after I cry,
I fix everything again to supress the pain.
Am I free again?
Am I worth the flight of life?
Or do I just see myself a failure?
-Whats next?
First,
A morbid fantasy of death,
Next is the manic states of hysteria.
Panic so much the ulsers open my stomach,
Next the anxiety cuts my throat.
And of what blinds these eyes from the world,
Is the fact that you are gone.
-So I ask?
What is a life without eyes to see,
The living colors everyone else sees?
Colorblind, and lonely.
What is life,
With only pollution of agony I breath?
Is it worth the struggle?
The thought of loss,
Only brings the specifcation in myself,
That I will never be the same,
Without you here.
*To My Dearest Mother*
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Submission Name: The Thought Of Loss
