Endlessly.

Lovers, movers, shovers. Liquors, stickers, and smoke.
Once what beat like a drum on a roll, is now comatose.
I could fill up these lines, like wine that  fills romance,
I could tap my feet senselessly, and pretend to dance.

That wouldn't mean much now darling, would it?
Though it would be pretty hard to not make it pretty.
With the stokes of a brush that happens perchance,
A picture of a coincidence on the canvas of a fluke.

I'm alive, but I haven't been living, or so I'm told.
If one could only explain to me, what I'm missing?
Perhaps the vain lingering of thought after thought,
Could dismiss the void that breeds on the inside.

Appalled by how easy it is, to sever these bonds,
The kind that had held me close, rattled my soul.
This unkind winter has turned from a testy season,
Into the perpetual setting of an already cold mind.

I repeat, I am not plagued, I am only pensive.
I keep a toll of the trinkets I find on the street.
They're not very many and they don't relate,
But form a chain that rants on endlessly.

Endlessly.