and the world in shambles.
you feel gratitude,
the sun has left to grief.
your bags are packed,
the bar, nothing to offer.
all that is left,
pain bottled up on shelves
sold to you,
pretending to be salvation.
explanations are worthless,
and ignorance could be bliss.
lamenting becomes a chore,
and disappointment, a daily bread.
the door, always shut.
and there it remains,
nailed, six feet under.
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