untitled #501

eyes open to pale white light
arms and legs, like lead
head surges and relents
in serious cycles of mental
misconception, questioning,
how, where, who, when,
everything gets dropped
into a virtual blender,
leaving slush for hope,
tears pouring down, wet
cheeks shimmer in the
flat light, eyes blur and
sting with fear for the
future and of the past,
frozen with grief, longing
for answers to every
question ever posed,
knowing the reply will
not be what is needed
to justify going on…

going on in spite of it

— GB

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