your whole life for some certain breed of people who will immerse you and love you and support you and cause such rage of emotions in you as to make you love pain. i search myself and everyday i think i may never find someone or some people with whom i can have a reciprocal intensity who i can support and be supported by.
maybe they don't exist?
write something that no one will read,
that no one will think was written. upset
that she’s leaving
and that we’re left to fend for ourselves,
claustrophobic
without patience
godless, yet fearful
these are the moments
that try souls, like a battered
body after a long hike,
with only oneself,
nobody you want around
and knowing that this
is what you’re gonna have to live with
for the rest of your life,
for the rest of these months
and weeks
and days and hours and minutes,
sometimes
overcome with emotion,
sometimes overcome
with loss, with the loss
of something physical, tangible
like the folds in a forgotten sofa,
the wrinkles of hands;
and something
mental, 
because someone hates you, and they think
you don’t know.
overcome
i write something
so angsty i’d throw up reading it
only for the sake that perhaps
i’d gain some ill-gained sympathy
and that could help me
move on.
i’d never want someone
to ask me what happened
because sometimes
everything happened.
sometimes even the merest loud laugh
rattling from the kitchen
could set your soul off trying.
