A Childish Lament

My soul longs to attach to others,

to be held and enveloped in spiritual and emotional connection.

Why is it that I never feel a true connection?

It happens for a moment only,

sometimes long moments,

sometimes only an instant.

But my fractured soul slides and morphs,

dismantling the connection and sliding back into darkness.

Why am I so useless,

worthless, shattered and fractured?

A broken piece of garbage that never worked in the first place.


Loneliness devours me,

an aching familiar warmth that swallows me whole

with hands reaching up around my neck in a silent choke-hold

that doesn’t suffocate me, but holds me in place as I tilt my head back and succumb to the heartache.

Tears roll down my neck and the hands gently squeeze my throat to remind me

why I am alone.

A puzzle piece missing from a picture that doesn’t exist.

I can only force a connection with something that seems right, like it will hold.

But my distorted soul fractures again; it morphs and shifts and the connection slips

and I fall

back into the dark hands of perpetual loneliness,

back into the familiar choke-hold of my own mind and soul.

Imperfect is an understatement.

I stand at the edge of a bridge, wanting to to fall, but hoping

that someone will be there at the last second to catch my arm.


Selfish, aimless, lost and afraid.

I reach out my hand and I find emptiness.

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