So distraught, and because life goes on, I must pace.
It’s a longshot yet this is how I evade disgrace.
I have memories, of the little one I bore and lost to war
Etched in my mind are high definition images of gore.
Rocking, bouncing, self soothing all for naught.
All of me yearns frustratingly and I’m overwrought.
Blessed is you who lay down without fret,
And you who arise with your inquisition whet.
For my whole world has now faded to grayscale.
So down in the dumps, squalor In comparison is pale.
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