For Silent Types.

Desolation.

The prickling lonesome abandonment manifests within my being.

It consumes me inch by inch.

My lungs cough up the choked sobs caught in the back of my throat.

Snakes wrap their way around my heart, savoring every second of pain.

Elicited from the utter desperation, ragged and shallow breaths leave me staggering.

There isn't enough time to say everything I need to say.

I'm left with the silent destruction.

The human soul craves another presence. Another being.

It craves the companionship that marks our existence. To say we are someone that matters.

To have witness of the way we live and love.

Without it, our minds turn on itself and eat us alive. Leaving our soul thirsty for the love potion we were deprived of.

It's not so much of the physical romance we all fancy all the time.

It's the intimacy of bare souls connecting. The feeling of being loved the same way you love others. Vulnerability registers the fear in ourselves with our hands tied behind our back, anticipating the blow to come.

And if you can't survive the slash of truth, you're left with the desolation manifesting within you.