Painful memories

It's 6:22am. Tonight, I find myself buried in a sea of dirt. Drowning in the grime and rock. As I gasp for air, I see the light of the sun, it burns my skin and every passing second the pebbles fill my lungs. I reach out my fingers for help, and it is with this idea, this memory, that I think everyone does. This reach for someone, a desperate attempt at connection. I see this, and it saddens me that one such as I does not feel it. As if I am inhumane, something like an abomination. I keep holding out hope there's more like me, but it's a fruitless endeavor, for should they exist, it would disappoint me all the more. I think the more I idolize something, the more the disappointment. Yet I still do, because it's important to suffer. Suffering, in itself is part of living, and to suffer means to live. So call me an animal, an abomination, feed me the scraps of illness and disease. Eat me alive, let my skin peel from my bone, and singe me alive. Because loneliness is my brother, and solitude is my lover.