I’ve never come to feel what
I have been so long risen away from.
I’m too stressed to be dead,
which lets me be too stressed to know an end.
to feel the lonesome flat-line of a world so desolate from
what I need,
and everything I know.
All I long for is to see one
from before.
From when I was me, and they were them.
Two different people sitting ***** in different vats
holding empty glances, grasping at the hope of a future that would never be.
Empty promises of my own binding.
Never said, but felt.

There is no one in the world but I.