Silence.
Here on this particular mountain.
Is deafening.

As I scream to myself.
For sympathy from someone else.
Or even.
Life.

But,
I'm still here in the ditch.
Laying in the grass.
Worn down and worn out.
Sleeping rough in the rocks

And,
No one hears my pleas.
For a meaning to all this.
Suffering.
Not God.
Not you.
Not anyone.

This is the furious rage of being inadequate.
While my scream pierces the sky and reverberates.
In my mind.
No one hears.
One of the few times I've been vlunerable.

Even if they did.
They wouldn't have cared.
What is a hobo to a man, but a moral failing?
At that moment.
I lost whatever faith I had in other people.

Nothing answered me in the depths of my rock bottom.
Scraping the jagged depths of my impotence.
Just the still subtle silence and the wind.
Blowing through my hair.

So I slept in the ditch.
Stopped asking for help.
Woke up in the morning.
Staving off another.

Reminder of how useless.

I truly am.