Alone 

Alone feels like a hole. It hurts in your chest. Right in your right ventricle. Alone squeezes your soul through the hernia in your stomach and out through your neck. Through that little catch in your throat. Until it reaches up like an unbridled scream. 

The one that never ends. It’s the black space on your therapist’s couch where you cried until you wept. Wounded to the bone. 

You always said if you started, you’d never stop. And you haven’t; screaming, that is. 

Alone feels like a cat sitting on your chest that won’t let you breathe. You’re allergic to the hairs and can’t breathe from the weight of the animal that refuses to move. It’s suffocating, painful even. Your breaths are drawn in between the dry heaves of your sobs. Does anybody love or remember me? 

You wonder. Alone.