I wanted to believe that I was suffused with love.
I am sick.
My sickness is ugly and I have ascertained that it is not a force to be reckoned with.
“Just think.” Just think they tell me, but my thoughts are corrupted by a cacophony of shrills that have cruel intentions.
You gnaw away at me.
Because sometimes you need the cracks to show to let the light in.
You don’t know that the soft traces of something good within me are just footprints in the snow.