in the fields where feelings are manufactured
I still feel its nauseating pangs
this loneliness could be a killer
at night it becomes my 'undependable' companion
as even sleep eludes my eyes
and anxiety rules all the way through
It started when you packed your baggage
and quietly walked out of the door
that rainy night several moons ago
then I indulged myself in great pretence
that my soup was not as salty and the bed just warm enough
nay! For I fooled even myself
The solution lies in my mind, I reckon
or perhaps the control of the disposition of the spirit
I'd search far and near for what I hope to be the cure
yet for now let me contend with these untitled verses
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