Why do I feel nothing inside except a swelling?

The swelling of my thumping heart, the swelling and contraction of my lungs as I attempt to steady the breathing that could either enslave me or, again, save me from his temperamental turns, and the swelling of my stomach - punished again in a cruel 'twist' of fate that has, in reality, turned out not to be so much a twist, but a vile habit.

Isn't it an awful thing when you know exactly what the problem is and exactly how to fix it, but matters out of your hands mean that you will not be able to save yourself for the foreseeable future?

Perhaps, in the knowledge that you are a lost cause, you may jump, for a person with nothing to lose surely has nothing to fear.

Jump from where, though? That is is the question. To jump from a height may be foolish, but to jump from ground-level is absurd.

"Listen to me.
You can see nothing from where I am standing.
I am in the hills, beyond your visibility.
It strikes me that I may be able to see more than you ever will.
I straddle the past, present and future, and any other dimension of time that exists beyond your perception. Understand that you need not understand. Place your trust in my words; my wisdom, because I can see. I can see it all.

You are man, designed simply to live in reality, not in the acknowledgement of the complexities that lie beyond your existence."

When you lean in close to my ear and allow me to believe that I can trust you; that the words that will fall from your mouth like a liquid, fast and flowing will be precious and sacred, it is the definition of betrayal.

I pray that when I claim your threats do not scare me, I will cease to be terrified, but they jab at me, as a forked tongue would. I hear the hissing in my ear, which was at first a pleasant change from the persistent drone, but quickly became something much more painful. Where there should be a paternal love, I find a gaping hole. A hole that you and I constantly work to fill, like shady men in the night, hurriedly disposing of the evidence that could rob them of their freedom. Our relationship is a ***** secret.

Whilst I could be a rich girl living off sympathy alone, you have selfishly taken that right from me, in one swift and cunning move. With one forced smile - one ****** movement - that emphasises the creases in your forehead (which, I hear, though I struggle to remember, once kept me entertained for hours), you convince them that all is more than well.

Why pretend that your heart is heavy with pride if the word is not a part of your vocabulary? Why take to grinning if the upwards inching of the corners of your mouth is so unnatural of a feeling to you that it feels like a chore - uncomfortable and laborious?

These people have no care for your state of mind, nor do they care at all about your quality of life. Your time, surely, would be much better spent attending to your sick home than attending to your royal reputation that, when you consider what you have in reality, is worthless.

You bare to me the resemblance of a curious child whose dreamy head is filled with images of faraway lands, glittering treasures and sand. Stop. Perhaps now is the time to awaken from your slumber. The grains are fast slipping through your fingers.

I'm not sorry.

The brain cradles the memories
That you and I share of us
Speaking as if we, never really parted

It cherishes your company
As we laugh together and I
Lift my mug and drink, enjoy the dialogue.

What Is said could not benefit
A soul, for you are wiser and
Stronger than I could, bare to recognise then.

Your wealth is now greater than you
May want to know, and your value
Higher than you will, be comfortable to show.

Whilst before I clung tightly to
Your cuff, like a child that had not
Seen the world - Now I seek myself.

Your garments need not be tugged for
I fear that they had been distressed
Enough - Each, crease a ravine (thoroughly explored).

There is no solace for what I would
Call a pessimist, in the heart
Of a wand'ring man searching for (his place).

No amount of science can piece
Together unrelated work,
You must design and, construct out of the norm.

The wind hums, travelling briskly
Through the gutters that by chance,
Remain sturdy as, the agèd earth rotates.

You are freed with some knock upon
Your door - you were a slave to
A friend who frankly, exists but is no more.

An unwise man is only as
Rich as his balance and if he
Falls only as, rich and ****** as his talents.