When Hard Work Ceases to Pay Off

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When Hard Work Ceases to Pay Off

 

Words, once abundant, now fail me.

Solitary, I step outdoors,

The breeze greets my cheeks bitterly.

Grieving for hope I had no right to conceive.

 

Nights are spent gazing inanely into the sky;

It is interspersed by shades

That spread like a giant bruise:

But it means nothing to me.

 

Questions foist my mind.

Were you carnally driven?

We are but collateral damage

In your bid for self-reinvention.

 

By day, I vest in our last moments;

Proof that you did once care.

A face, twisted by despondence,

Though, any feelings you may have grown, died;

 

Wilted within moments-

We shrivelled, like a plant without the sun;

Or perhaps, like snowdrops,

We desiccated when the heat became too much.

 

I wallow in austerity;

Repeating each daily ritual,

As if the futile suddenly means something.

It doesn’t.

 

Words, meaningless now, are written across a page,

Repeated over countless days,

In copious different ways,

But it always ends the same.

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