A black sheep

It's 4:02am. I keep wondering, in a way I would say I'm never satisfied. Satisfied that the world is a chaotic mound, a lawless town, full of monstrous humans. It's these times that I try and figure out where I fit in. People with sensibilities and empathetic emotions, seem so little compared to ourselves. As if, I could hold more than others, but in a strange and peculiar way, I feel as if all the others around me, do not have the capacity to feel so profoundly. It's as if they are not there, completely. Every time I notice people, they look so lonely, they squabble around constantly stretching their arms in search of some sort of feeling, to fill their holes that puncture their souls. I want to see them for what they really are, and if they are not who I think they are, then those are the beings I wish to study. To study such marvelous differences in humanity. I think maybe, we all struggle with the hole that is ingrained in our souls, although, I think some of us struggle less because we have knowledge of it. The knowledge that no amount of words, or touch of flesh, or any emotion that could be conjured up by our ridiculous brain could ever fill this empty void. I think that is why so many of us struggle with the concept of survival, of living, of existing. To some of us, this void, is eternally, completely, unavoidably, a part of our human condition. It's weight is so heavy, as if we were holding the human race on our shoulders. It does not deserve us, our human race, we are too special for it, so we lose ourselves in our minds and drink ourselves to death, because it's not what we can do for humanity, but what they DESERVE to get from us. Nothing