Desolate, unrelenting feeling. Without a respite of solace. The sick empty feeling in the pit of my stomach that won’t go away is my only companion. I miss the idea of touch. Those abstract kisses. The concept of intimacy. I long for all these things and more. I allow myself to be altered in unspeakable ways in order to briefly forget my station in life. I pray for amnesia, but all I ever get is insomnia. My pain is my passion with the past as its fuel.