has come easier for me now than it was before.
I would have hoped to feel nothing.
To stare up at my ceiling silently, something striking along those lines, but all I feel now is that loneliness seeping into my bones.
It welcomes me, much like one would embrace a decrepit chum, it sits by my side but it doesn’t tell me it will be alright. It helps me fathom my desolation; let’s me know that I’m so afraid of deficiency, yet it’s the only hoax my spirit subjugates me to.
And instead of arms wrapping around me with quiet words of solace –
my gift comes in the form of anguish,
deafening sobs that terrorize me.
The scent of honeysuckle melting away