What destruction to my soul!

What life removed!

What right have I to sit here and feel nothing?
What chance?

The point of horrors past and future horrors dodged give no more comfort than does vindication.

I would be wrong to make it right.

What chance I’ll reach the end?

I am torrential.
I am still.
I am a haven, and a killing field.

What chance I’ll reach the end?

I am hot ash.
I’m far too cold.
I’m tarnished; I cannot be gold.

I could be a souvenir, but am a memory best lost.
A thorn in every side.
A coin once clutched, but best if tossed.
A condemned amusement ride.

What chance I’ll reach the end?

I’m shaken till I shatter.
I’m numb until I mend.
Shake and shatter.
Shake and shatter.
Shake and shatter; numb again.

What right have I to sit here and feel nothing?

What right?

What choice?

What chance?