I stand alone in this wretched room.
I feel rage.
I feel pain.
I feel tears.
I let nothing drown my sorrows.
Nothing could be of any help.
Months ago where was everyone around me?
Somewhere to be seen.
Now they are nowhere, far out in the smoggy plains of Britain.
The room hums a sound of a clock and electricity.
Nothing is quite right.
I had not bared witnessed to the event.
Of her and someone else.
I had only heard about it.
Everything hurts all over.
I loved her.
But she didn’t know it.
I had no right to be annoyed.
It wasn’t my place.
It never had been.
But the pain still rung out.
It echoed through my skin.
It resided in my stomach.
My demons surrounded me.
Britain was more unappealing and appalling than ever.
The world turns and turns regardless of it’s denziens.
It bares the pains of it’s denziens with silence.
Deep down I am grateful for that.
It exacerbates my writing.
I feel the sharp edge of the world cutting into me.
It slices me in two.
The memories of me and her.
Are far out.
I feel very little.
I conjured up how the event went.
Alcohol infused making out.
But who was I to complain?
I had no relationship with her.
I just had a pining for her.
My world was crumbling once again.
I found it ironic.
My demons taunted me with pointy fingers.
I had been though much worse things than this.
But this hurt the worst.
I had no answer for it.
More than a year of pining and built up hope.
Collapsed in that room.
The world had never been right in my eyes.
I found it cruel and unjust.
Which is what I so often write about; the pain of pining for someone and the coldness of the world.
I see the world occurring amidst me.
I stand upright.
She saw this room once.
I should of fallen in love with her then.
Afterwards, well it was just too late.