There is no reconciliation

There is no reconciliation. There is only the sound of others conversing, laughing. Fragments of pain escape when my heart turns in convulsions. Echoes of biased narratives designed to manipulate. Shouting, screaming in joy to show others how happy you are. Sadness, starting in my mind and plunging back down to its source, dragging bits of me with it. There is no reconciliation, just time passing and the cold crystallizing of dead love breaking off into the past. Why try. Happiness in others, in those once creating happiness in you. There is no reconciliation here. I do not feel good. Others do though. Giggles, familiarity, warmth. Just words to me. Empty slags of paint that mask nothingness. Burn, bitterness. Time to grieve. Why eat again—it only gives me comfort. Nothing to write anymore—it’s all contrived. Enveloping. What’s done is done. Grieve. There is no reconciliation here. It’s been two months since I died. I want to get up, but I can’t. To remember you must have a reason to stitch together emotions and memories. So what is my reason to continually recall this pain, this division? Can good come from that, did good come from that? Laughter ripples across the houses, shattering, piercing to me. Just keep moving forwards. Still, I can’t rise. Grieve for there will be no reconciliation. When can I be given up to death? Then I will know victory. Death has no sting, but life sure does. Others’ glee fuels my hatred. They will pay for their lack of guilt. And I still have not gotten up. There is no reconciliation here. Voices all around; my head can be barely be lifted. Hate, love, acceptance, rejection, time. Just words. And I still can’t get up. There is no reconciliation here. I sigh a lot now, involuntary and psychosomatically. And I love, not really knowing why. Both doors must be closed before bed because it gives comfort. I wish I could run, but I can’t even get up. And there is no happiness in this place, just memories now radiated. I am so sad in all things. This is life, maybe always has been. My cup runneth over. Biblical phrases again. Go and sin no more. There is no reconciliation here. And tomorrow I’ll do the same things in different ways. The same thoughts will arise in a different light, but the shadows will grow and pulse. Eddies of time stick in these shadows. Flashing lights. I am fading away.