To understand the meaning of being alone is something different entirely. it is an idea completely out of reach, yet buried too close for comfort. So extraordinarily near that the only being that can truly feel it is the Body. The Mind will shy away, will want to run run run until there is nothing left to remember it by. The Body will endure, trapped by its own existence. Crying out into the merciless void

The tendrils called pain uncurl, stretching, reaching, searching desperately for something intangible, something they will never find. Bones creak and groan; breaking under the pressure of the Loss, wishing they could simply burst free of their skin tight prison. They hope in vain

Muscles squeeze together as if bound by brittle rope. veins split from the fear of the closing, screaming for their supposed redemption; mouth opens, white riders glint, shadowed iris’s pop, ears bleed-All in protest of their fate

The Loss will stay. Refusing to give its owner peace. Demanding to be known.Embedded into the very being of its victims, taking pleasure in slow torture, It is cruel

The Body will be broken by the Loss, cracks formed in the heart of it all, Never to heal












This thing called mourning.