It’s times like this that I wonder
Why, what, where, who, when.
Till I can’t wonder anymore
and all goes blank

and bland and black
and bleak and 

 

 

 

 

 

and then a soft silence
muffling the dreams,
till dream and memory meld seamlessly
and nothing is real.

Nothing to live for
but nothing to die for
and I just exist
but I do not

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