sorrow

what does one do with days
that stretch from sleep to sleep
and hazy in betweens
and one doesn't quite know whether 
one's weeping in sleep 
or sleeping in a sea of tears 
or even exists at all, amidst all the grief
its all a phantasmagoria
of sorrows past and present
of people lost and gone
of memories that throb with life
although your brain is comatose
you grapple with loud sounds
and harsh lights and smells that 
over power and spin you into a faint
you never quite recover from
and everything looks unreal, tinged
with unbearable pain so that you
so don't want to reach and touch
but want only to curl into a ball
that rolls down green meadows
and strikes tall trees
and falls into the brook 
and gets carried down into the sea