Sometimes I like to pretend it’s gone.
But, it’s never gone.
That crushing, terminal aloneness…I know so well.
It’s how it’s always been. Since childhood. It’s always there.
Either just under the surface.
Or rising up and reminding me, of it’s dark solitude.
It’s ever present need to consume me.
Remind me. Torment me. Persecute me. Isolate me. Invade me. Shame me.
I don’t deserve anything else.