Posted: 2 March 2017 | Journal Home

There is great seclusion inside me,
a hollowness that haunts and twists me in the wind.
I feel time-worn.
I feel brittle.

My heart throes with an arrant sadness,
a pit of death inside my depth-less conscience aches.
I feel anguish.
I feel stricken.

Lamentations of a lonely soul,
a desolate past, uncollected memories.
I feed abandonment.
I feed abdication.