Somnombulance
Unrequited hearts amidst a sea of endless bliss,
drowning in their own somnombulance.
Painful reality of waking up to the sound of death,
and the stench that only love creates.
Is all love unhappy?
Only mine, for mine remains burned and scarred,
with no chance of love's reciprocal.
Is what I know even love,
or is it a blackened dream,
from which derives only suffering?
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