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.

Defected.

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.

Childish

Selfish, aimless, lost and afraid.

I reach out my hand and I find emptiness.

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