languid

he feels
everything
but he has
bathed himself
in the cold
waters of
detachment
so even as
he is pained
he shrugs it off
and keeps on
keeping on

he mutters
to himself
how he just
doesn’t care
aware enough
he is lying
but also just
gullible enough
to cling to it
hoping one day
it will be true

instead he
walks along
through a vortex
of comets
crashing against
his languid cocoon
watching them
shatter brightly
scorching his
penitent stare
where each new
blossom of light
a fresh painshiver
in blistering sadness

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