Too shaken we collapse
imploding in on our softness
we, the sensitive, were warned
to be cautious.

Moments melt into each other
in long stretches of agony.
The present is always painful
it either hurts or hurts to lose.

Borders barely exist
surroundings seep right into us
soiling and staining
This Self we try to preserve.

If only it was easy
for microcosms to overlap
to outdo this tragic loneliness
of our destiny.