The Irk

Its odd,that i feel this way..
Worse,i think it too.
That something i can't voice..
That something i can't put my finger on.

Reasons are but poor company...
They vanish half way through the predicament.
I try looking beyond me...
Its another matter that there is no point there.

Suffices to say,i know what is next..
That there is nothing to be content with.
Halts are mere matters of amusement..
I stay a little longer,and there it returns.

Looking back,or ahead,or now...
Not much has changed.
I do mop the shreds of disappointment...
On some days vigrously,on others by habit.

Not that i am weary,or saddened...
I am as i have been for long.
Tried remembering myself before it became so long...
A whiff of what could be smotherd what had been.

Now,i don't mull over it so much...
I have accepted it,as i accepted the facade.
But the irk remains...
The irk,beyond reason,but the only truth.