Fleeting Nescience

Questions breed questions, and answers breed more,
Which ones will you ask with your face on the floor?
Half full? Half empty? Or a knocked over cup?
What will you question when the world chews you up?
Why are you doing this? Can you tell me the truth?
But to look for the answers is to be truly uncouth,
Or at least thats the conclusion you finally make,
When youre tattered and battered and your eyes burn and ache.
When tears wash a way through the blood and the grime,
But will never, could never remove the stain of the time.
When the path became dangerous, the world made no sense,
And you are left disparate, feeling both guilty and dense.
The questions keep coming even when answers grow thin,
Until you cant hear yourself think over the ensuing din.
And the one that stays with you when you remember the day
Is what happens to the innocence that is stolen away?