what could it
be
sitting
unravelling
trying to
understand
when he lost
control
hearing the
pathetic cries
louder by day
always trying
to do something
even nothing
has become a chore
don’t know him
any better
than on the
first day
rain on the
mind
Isis in his ear
saw a smile
under the huge
weeping willow
holding a
flower
half expecting
him to eat it
watching him
drift
at the river’s
edge
sinking slowly
since then
floating from
the edge
still cuts him
every time
questioning any
and all reality
pushed in his
way
he can’t find
words
to describe the
mess
no one ever
sees him eat
says he eats
alone
still walking
each morning
little more
numb than the previous
anesthetic trying
to make sense of that
tried with no
luck
where is the
justice
no one has been
close to him
in a year or
more…
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