Soul, do you work, and if so could thy answer:
For do you understand the implications of your manner?
We believe to be dying over and over and over and over…
I cannot stand to bare this artificial pain

Illustrious emotion, do you exist, and if so could you answer:
Do you comprehend the perplexity of your surrender?
We have been left hollowed out over and over and over and…
I cannot tell if I feel a thing.

Wrathful worry, do you die, and if so could one answer:
When will you relinquish me from this barrage of stabbings?
We have coexisted as enemies over and over and….
Why am I worrying?

Is it truly my time to see the shining light, lest it be the fiery hell?
More so, could it be that I shall meet my next life?
I am infected with the disease of contingent worry,
I cannot feel a thing all the same.

written 2021.
Photo by Mishal Ibrahim on Unsplash