To bring another heartache, another hurtful memory, another long, long, long, suffering, another letdown, another strife, another death into my life.
Can I comprehend the endless pain that will devour the world as you walk with the wind off this planet of stinging rain?
Will I falter at the sound of swans gargling fake pond water, eyes glazed, fixed on nothing, beauty reshaped into gods of bronze?
This soul has seen the deepest black, heard the loudest roar, felt the roughest wrack.
This soul has smelled the foulest stench, tasted the tartest food, discerned the coming drench.
There must be a reason we still exist. There must be a reason love still persists.
Am I ready to combat logic? Rationality leads to states ironic. Death makes sense in life sublime: No one’s ready when it’s time.