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I might be overwhelmed, and sunk in turmoil Yet it all bores me so, who could repent when there is nothing to do wrong? How can I err and trip without any impediment like this? Again I see, it means I should fall or trip or stop Morbid fascination with nothing is really taxing me My patience has withered, my thoughts have sunken And I am a river drowning in itself Through itself. How dramatic one acts sometimes! The leaves turn and their color blooms and fades but if you reach to hold...if you want to hold them they always die. What is love if not death? Maybe the answer to any question asked is every answer you can think of. |