Sometimes my heart aches, with a pressure of an ocean of tears I never shed.
Not because I don't want to but maybe because it seems too precious to lay upon shallow ground.
My pain, my mind, my love, my grief. All things mine in a confusion and desperation unappreciated by others and therefore unnecessary to anyone but me.
I'm desperate for connection in my own nihilist way of being miserable and forlorn. I don't trust anyone, not the ones I love, not me, nothing. But I want to want to. I want to be able to. Always mid-sentence though, always reticent, in a never ending/never blooming hope.