The words come out in clouds of vagaries
and yet still you sit.
Adrift in a sea, separate from me.
Maybe the lies have meaning.
I understand yet this baleful knowledge is of no comfort.
Curiously, I watch the flames rise with some sort of indifference.
No, it isn't that you hate me.
It's more unrest in your eyes.
Is there nothing that can even ease your pain?
Can we endure more of this world?
In my cheap arrogance, I fashioned a reality
where I was someone, where my life mattered,
where you were happier.
(Why am I still alive?)
I understand that I don't understand.
Why am I still...?
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