photo credit: cepsl Bright color and smoke curl via photopin (license)

Flickering, fading,
This deception of being,
Absence of feeling.
Half-life in the half light
Of a receding world.
Distances are growing.
The only sounds now
Are inarticulate groanings
And soulless moaning.
That mean nothing to me.
For a living being
I’ve ceased to be.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


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