Thoughts at 10:54 PM

I live in a Godless world.

A thoughtless world.

I breathe in the horrible stardust of a planet futilely suckling on ether with nary a drop of true nourishment––of hope and absolute happiness. For what man can merrily speak of how we live in such a unimaginably beautiful world made by someone who would gladly watch us break our hearts over it? No man. No woman. No child. No creature of any sort of intelligence could subjugate themselves to the truth of this grim and barren world and still speak kindly of it. To do so is an impossible task.

A terribly damaging task.

The task itself demands, undoubtedly, the inevitable failure and subsequent fall into the veritable oceans of despair and loathing. In the light of the truth our shadows stretch to far greater than the sum of our meager bodies. Of our tiny souls. And in that horrid light of truth the sea of tragedy swells and storms––rages with undeniable fury until it swallows a person whole. If that were not enough, the shackles of depression too play a part. Their iron balls latch onto one's legs and slowly drag them under. Drowning in waters that cannot kill themselves.

What sort of a God would allow this travesty?

I beg of anyone who could lend me an answer––poor or not. Shine a softer light on my darkness and unveil a truth that does not cut me with cruel edges! I cannot work to untie this knot any longer. I understand it not and have broken every skin––physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual––on the barbed wires of its design. This hidden flaw in the grand tapestry of life can strain me alone no longer. I will not toil in anguish. I have not the energy to force myself to question any longer.

I merely can think. And these thoughts are dangerous.

Plain and simple.

Today reeks of loneliness.

Although I awoke to incessantly pounding reverberations of optimism clamoring in my heart, I cannot deny that, even in this jungle, I feel as though I stand alone. I am but a tree who's roots do not entangle themselves with those of others––No, they only draw invariably closer to them but never connect. Like fingers grazing desperately, the very air swirling with clawing energies as they fail to find purchase with one another. Despite the forest that surrounds me––the masses of life both above and below me––I cannot find a connection.

And lack of connection stings like exile.

Isolation. The foulest mechanism. It shreds through compassion and batters empathy relentlessly until those walls come crashing down. Then it strikes the mind. Brandishing the blades of malevolence and insecurity, this beast shatters every good feeling with a single beat of the pommel. The pieces fall and, although time works to mend all wounds, never fully recollect. In the end a cracked shell sits housing nothing more than that which aids loneliness in its assault.

In the end nothing matters.

And that terrifies me.