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Not all those who wander are lost;"

- J.R.R Tolkien

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38.

In fallowed seconds of inertia stripped callously with browned timbre and a rough hand that grips without mercy or empathetic vice. The words poured out of my mouth and ulcerous insides with a feverish froth of toiling emotion, feelings of slow death and the quivering of a small unused heart.

It took years of ghosted pains and fake life to lay down a pillar of solidarity in understanding that the loneliness which wrapped me, so cold and comfortably, was an irrefutable and constant beat in my worthlessness.

Perhaps what came as an even colder blow on the crippled form of hope was the fact I was not needed. That feeling that without me, your life would be stillhinged, still ongoing and perfect, unlike me and my need.

The most horrible and twisted truth to this incessant and garbled drabble spewed from the shadows of a moonless early winter night is that;

The people that are most painful and cause the most sleepless suffering are the ones that do not mean it or even know how they inflict their fatal blows.

Posted on 28 October
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