This Which I Call loneliness

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This which I call loneliness is cold.
This loneliness leaves the face wet and the heart starved…
and begging.
This loneliness never began and this loneliness will never dissipate..
or lessen.
This loneliness leaves a stomache heavy and the head light..
and aching.
This loneliness is lying beside a body but not feeling warm.
This loneliness is speaking to a face but not being heard.
This loneliness is crying softly but being resented for my noise.

I was born alone.
I’ve always been alone.
I shall die alone.

I resent the hope you gave me..
I resent the illusion you created for me..
An illusion I clung to that maybe for only a second…
I was not alone.

I am but a fragile fragment of thread on a sewing room floor
Useless, unwanted, meaningless
Forgotten.

This which I call loneliness lingers by my side.
This which I call loneliness never strays very far from the back of my mind.
This which I call loneliness resurfaces from time to time..
Always there.

This loneliness is cold.
This loneliness is bitter.
This loneliness cuts, bruises, burns and starves.
This which I call loneliness will be the congenital illness that takes
My simple, insignificant life.

Alone, the dreams you gave me sink.

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