severance

from what severance of soul
does death doth spawn?
what loss was achieved
to mutilate this failed fragment of dream?

what difference is there to be found
between the dusk and the dawn?
save for measures of arbitrary time, passing,
fading, leaving longing and regret to fester in its wake.

what convinces me of this absurd certainty
that i am alive, i exist, i matter, and i persist?
is it only and alone an engine of delusion?
a self-fulfilling damnation
in need of no god nor devil to perpetrate
its petty tyrrany of isolation?

why do i not resist?
apathy?
shame?
fear?
or love?

why am i here?
why must there be any why?