My hands feel tethered...

I see you laying in the foetal pose of the anguish of a harsh reality, One of which you are undeserving; a pain that you do not deserve, wounds that ought never to’ve been inflicted on one such as you. I wish I could reach out to allay if even for a moment that brow creased with worry and hurt, to somehow rid you of the horrendous facts of life...and all that comes to mind is “ God should play more.” The line of a poem I have cherished in my dark times: days when I truly wonder if God does indeed find the allowing of the gross injustice to continue to those who are undeserving of such hardship, who have borne enough crosses without having to also be made to suffer an emotional lynching. Was Ian McDonald right? As i regard your stock still form...I look up and shake my head...

Sitting here and Musing...

I sit and look on, as through the one way mirror afforded me by social network media you ripped away at the self that you had created of me...years of an image of pristine ideals and a childlike innocence, despite my pleading that these be stripped from the caricature; which is only reasonable after all, as they especially to me are in no way truly the torn battered soul who continually stands before you, as a leper would dare cross the threshold of royalty... you refused me the mercy of seeing me as i saw myself, and let me see the light you saw in me...a light I have since lost sight of in the short passing of 3 moon phases...and now in this a seeming unending abysmal eclipse, I am comforted- or was, as it seems, like so much in this world, an illusory facade- by the thought you were doing better than even my walls had, which surround my internal conflict like a dam ardently holding back an unending mighty Torrent of water, existent to ensure those who would express worry would be allayed to think naught amiss with me... but even that was more of my Naivete...nevertheless, I plough on

a time to vent...

As I lay here in some contemplation on the nihilism and faithlessness which had come to overshadow and consume the existence I had painstakingly carved out for myself,I take a few moments in the dark stillness of my temporary solace; the inner sanctum of my room, to silently scream my displeasure at the heavens...not uncommon in my silent tirade was the phrase "why me?" frustratingly, the very question which constantly went and goes unanswered