I used to loathe when tired, those who erred to disregard the pull of thoughts towards the complexities that make us who we are. Or perhaps the tug they never feel, the stinging ***** within the soul. That scratch that must be raked by nails until one feels they fin'lly "know."

I loathed the hedonist's sweet relief
The gratification and tunneled vision
The scarless frames, the husks they may be,
The innocence of things unseen-
I once would wish that I could be so null to that which mattered most. Its relative, but even still I wished that I was like those folks.

11:36p
8.28.18