The King of All Loneliness

It's fucken tough at times. In this brutal place called Wonderland. It was meant to be this way. I was built for it. Nothing easy, body howling. You push me towards agony, effortlessly, needlessly. Ah, bliss. The cruelty of people. People are cruel. What should one expect? Nothing, and one cannot be disappointed. For this is difficult though.

And if the people who love me are out there i'd ask does love not need to be shown then? I should guess of its existence, am I correct? Where I have shown it in the past with words and supporting actions I must attempt to understand the concept of it being shown through silence (?). Okay. How odd, how strange, how pathetic. It carries an air of the conditional.

Far be it for me to proclaim myself some expert on love in the same day I openly name myself 'The King of All Loneliness,' (or at all, not what i was reaching for) but actions speak volumes to this here man. So, I can sit and write, not just from the Well of Depression, but about a great many topics, from angles that show various degrees of light. I can still see love, even if I can't feel it arriving at the door from more than one source. But if one person can entrust their own life to one other, foolishly or not, then one person can save the universe for another. All it takes to make the world. To save it. One person, when every other soul seems lost (to you), when those who should care abandon you. There is always hope, until the doors close, and even then it depends on the angle.

The battle of the century. You and I. And 'you' is everything, and 'I' is just one man. This one man.

you are not what you think
if you think
no not at all

Maybe winter really was designed for hibernation. Of all creatures.