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Three Months

It’s been three months.
Three long cycles of the moon.
Ninety times the sun rose and fell.
I take steps.
Slow steps.
In one moment,
Everything can change,
But for every moment
In the After,
It is all painstakingly
The same.
The same slow,
Laborious heartbeats.
Mechanical breathing.
An endless routine.
Wake up,
Where is the meaning?
What is the point?
People live,
They breathe,
They fall in love,
They break,
And they die.
The crippling numbness
In the After
Brings them to their knees,
Yet they willingly put their hearts
On the line
Again and again.
Do they not see it?
Are they that naive;
The definition of insanity
Is making the same mistake
Over and over,
And expecting different results.
Wouldn’t that mean
Everyone is insane?
You all feel the pain
In the After,
And yet you choose to
Fall in love again?
I will never understand this.
I will be different.
I only needed to make the mistake
Now, never again.
How does my heart find the energy
To beat?
Over and over.
Why should mine,
With all its weight,
Get to survive,
While those who can shine
Must die?
Three months is an eternity
To feel exactly the same.
A stupid, shitty, endless cycle
Of anguish.
Freshly cut even still,
So very raw.
So very, very raw.
Everything stays the same.
But nothing will
The same

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