staccato bursts of unanswered questions swirling through my cavernous and hollow head, each fly looking for some sugar to consume, to feed and grow upon, but the flies lie still and starve; there's no sustenance in the cerebral death valley. It takes more than supply drops, the entire ecosystem needs revamping.
These once fertile fields have been laid to waste by the decay of unused ability. The ground has lay fallow for too long, you can sow no seeds, but there is nowhere to go, and sitting and starving is growing so old.
But this emotional and psychological decay, this mind death serves more than just as a venue of sorrow, it feeds the humus, and the fields, if tended correctly, will become fertile again.