one of the bad days
How would I be capable
of explaining this life,
this series of events,
explaining the way it has
changed me, morphed me,
into a person I no longer know,
to any other soul?
I'm fully convinced
that no other would understand;
I don't feel comfortable in my
own skin, my own mind.
I feel foreign.
My feet travel forward,
immersing themselves in
the continuation of time,
of life, of activity,
but my mind protests.
Where do I belong now?
with a lost father, a lost faith -
at loss of any explanation,
any meaning behind the madness.
I am a lonely wayfarer
consumed with the brutality
of uncertainty.
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