28

To be in a perpetual state of grief

To always sink into a mawkish abyss

Held back, thrust forward, ill-equipped, here-you-go

It was to read as a brief chapter

Now it seems to play as the theme of the whole tome

And it’s hard to always be digging for answers

It’s harder to always look for a part of memory

Polarized with enough antipathy

To bury regret

28 in, still, every quarter past ten

All these dread resurface again

There is no catchy chorus to soothe

what burns

what remains

In constant state of grieving

Accustomed method of breathing

Sun shines next morning

Sun shines next morning