...The story of a girl in London, England


Sonnet 22


I just don’t care to care, because the days

Blend all together so I can’t pretend

To know where one begins—I’d almost say

That there is no beginning, there’s no end

To all the meaningless display; the rush

To run about in madness; once a day

To stop and sleep, and never rest; the crush

Of endless months and years… I beg, I pray

To know, what IS the point? Why do we spend

Our whole lives running, purposeless? And where…

Where is the finish line? Where is the end?

When can I stop this masquerade, and care

About the life I’m never living? Sure-

Ly, surely, there is something? Something more?

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