I will write until there is silence

Frantically give structure to the tempest until it calms

Maybe, one day, I will reach the end and the ache will be gone

The persistent need to understand

Finally, suspended

How I envy those who can elect not to think about “it”

Too, though, I fear them

Admirable and contemptible dissonance

I do not write because I like to


Because if I did not, I could not bear the weight of one more breath

Almost unbearably tantalizing, the numbness of coma

My longing for a quiet oblivion equalled but only just by my determination to win

Sometimes, though, stubborn isn’t quite enough

Each moment repentance for sins I don’t remember committing

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