The Kind Of Poem by Jame Paise

The kind of loneliness that starts at my diaphragm, slowly swells into warm paste that suffocates my internal organs until I don't know if I want to rip out my insides or curl up and hold on tight of fear that I might implode into fragments of who I was, dilute into the Brita-filtered-glass-of-water that stands beside me, to be drank by some unbeknownst passer-by. This blanket is not enough, you are not enough for you are human and humanity can be so unforgiving. Squeeze the living out of me, and maybe then I shall see the ethereal lights that glow in my dreams.