Broken Remains

What is left to salvage
with broken remains of memory,
marred by insanity?
Why carry such madness
to fester
in already broken hearts?

This aching Is the only thing left
reminding me
that I still wander-
a lost soul among the dead.
At least they
have reached home.

This wound remaining before us
is too devastating
this crater is too deep, too wide.
How can the world not feel
its emanating pain?
How can they not be in fever?

Their sluggish response
has weary undertones.
They must be sedated
on something worse,
clutched between the unrelenting fists
of something too potent.

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