Rotted loneliness has the growing gravitational pull of a dark abyss,
It is the antithesis of the concept of having any hope in the ‘word’. . . . bliss.
One does anything to fill the gaping chasm,
Only to feel pangs like an increasingly painful spasm.
The pain is so deep it affects every aspect of life,
One can ingest anything . . . . be it stimulating oneself inwardly, outwardly, physically, visually, mentally, emotionally to ease the inward pain stabbing like a knife.
One may go bankrupt, lie, cheat, steal, experience rage, pose, even hoard things,
All to which . . . . Nothing, and worse . . . . it all brings.
You want to be loved . . . . and think, you know love,
But in the abyss . . . . you swipe for it . . . . and yet it’s too far above.
When given love . . . . you wouldn’t, and couldn’t hold, enjoy, or return it,
Instead you burned love, fought, argued, harmed . . . . even bit, and hit it.
Loneliness can’t accept love because it blocks the Divine flow,
The hardest part to grasp . . . . is . . . . the lonely person doesn’t really know.
It’s like a form of denial, yet in the guise of blames;
It’s a personal free fall in the abyss, while in full blown flames.
Loneliness is rather quite complex, as in the one being a “loner” . . . . is sorely deceived,
You give for the wrong reason . . . . and yes, “you” received.
A stone cold heart will not . . . . and cannot receive true love,
Instead it returns love deliberately with a vigorous shove.
The lonely one gives to justify one’s own misdeeds, guilt, and actions,
As the lonely one sucks in the world’s offerings to empty dissatisfactions.
I say ‘dissatisfactions’ because it hits deeply on so many levels,
Eventually it all wells up in the abyss, and the lonely suffocates in self-inflicted upheavals.
Justification of your lies,
To try and make right in your own eyes.
It’s a poor disguise,
Seen through . . . . by the wise.
We see you cry for help even when you aren’t able,
Your life is churning hypocritically and unstable.
Yet you speak of it all, and aren’t even aware;
If you knew the lovingly, wise tried to help . . . .
Who knows . . . . you could’ve realized the depth of your own scare.
See there is or was help from. . . . someone out there,
But one abscessed with self-absorption has no capacity to genuinely care.
I’ve got to stop there,
Because these words don’t just come out of thin air.