with my head in the clouds

But even so, every now and then I would feel a violent stab of loneliness. The very water I drink, the very air I breathe, would feel like long, sharp needles. The pages of a book in my hands would take on the threatening metallic gleam of razor blades. I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at four o'clock in the morning.


Stabs, and stabs, and stab after bottomless stab. 


And then he filled my void for a while
only to be wrenched free
a gash now widened, 
frayed
raw