End of the line

What do you do,
When there’s nothing more to say,
That hasn’t been said before?
A thousand times before
A thousand different ways.
When a word
Just becomes syllables.
A phrase meaningless
A speech, empty.

What can you do,
When the art of listening,
Is dead and gone?
When romance lies in the dust
And even lust has dried.
Kisses become two faces touching
Sex becomes means to an end.
Messy and animal and emotionless.

What will I say,
When you stand in front of me,
Full of questions,
Expecting a response?
How can I communicate
When I feel dead inside?
The dead do not speak
Do not do
Do not love.
Yet still somehow
I love you.

Poetical Debbimouse, over and out.

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