It's like a bag of pebbles that sits inside their container. Filled like a mass that feels like indigestion, but more like compressed air that floats around. EVERYWHERE it burns yet it's spitefully comforting; It resides in me now. It is definitely one that would take a supernova to relieve, a death of sorts, and a honorable one at best.

There is No Love. For this I remain.
No faith in It or those who think it's true. I refrain.
For those who don't really understand why they are more like moss to each others rock. I complain.
And to those who hate others who hated them first, I strain.
I strain my thoughts, I strain my heart, and I feel weak. I die a little while my fear in this life grows. I wish a shower of light from the atmosphere would devour us all. Why are we breathing now, anyway? For a quick glance of fear or degradation.

We are bone and dust. That return to the earth. Earth that is so gracious in its willingness to gives us life. It cares for us unlike us; we don't care for one another. No matter what shade of clay, soil, or sand we are. When was it that we strayed so far from being humbly alive and love like that in which we came.

I feel like this when I am alone. People now, change this, in me.