STRANGE COMFORT

There is strange comfort
In this lack of love
That rises
With the air below
And coats me 
With
Indifference

And I have come to like it
Well enough
These lazy days 
Of nothingness
To want not
To need not
And have nothing 
To give

To be excused
From expectation
And all effort
And duration

A release of sorts
Some would say
To selfishly own
All of my days
Spending time 
Alone
My way
In idle reflection