Where does loneliness end and relief begin?
When does the suffering collapse unto itself
And void its reasons for existence?
The hunger for the missing is dizzying
Fading the world into stroboscopic apathy
Varied only with waves of withering agony
For the nourishment still not there.
Dementia has no easier time trespassing,
Consuming the yearning, victim only of caring.
Lurching forward like green-gray zombies
Possessed by anger's burning, bitter taste
Accepting the interminable dearth of joy
Seeking futile sources of fleeting happiness
Just to survive to the next throes of pain.
Surely this must be a perverse penance;
Punishment for a crime not knowingly committed.
If justice has but the boniest grasp on life,
Such hurting cannot exist without steeled reason.
But the acceptance of solitude is fatal;
And despite not feeling the will to continue,
Some internal masochist keeps up the fight.
Endless self-flaggelation for its own purpose.
Life may be worth continuing as long as possible
But life alone is worth only its own introspective horror.
copyright © 2008 Sean Shannon