Do you not care at all,
Not for me, but for what it is
Does it not matter at all
If it comes down, to just this.

Penning down doubts
about the very existence
of what used to engulf us
in a world that made sense.

A world that we sought as
refuge and sweet pleasure
Dunked ourselves in when
the world turned real bizarre.

what occurred was just incidental?
I needn't get mushy and sentimental?
It was a deluge we let ourselves in
Tried carrying on, seems it had an ending.


Do you not care at all,
Not for me, but for what it was
Does it not matter at all
If it has comes down, to just this.

I guess not.
Move on.