The pain. The ache. The emptiness. It is all-consuming. It has become all I know. It is all I feel. It is a voice within me. Effortlessly deep. Fathomlessly immeasurable. And it is hungry. The only thing left to feed it is me. And it is always hungry. Never is it satiated.
I’m stuck walking a line between an obliteratingly normalcy that borders on boring and a terrible destruction. No one left to hear my screams. No more hearts to plead my life to. No more eyes to bare my soul to. No more fingers to desperately pull me back from the edge. No one left to love me for the beautifully imperfect little shit of an asshole that I am. And what’s the point? I’m just an empty shell, a hollow husk of my former self.