An appetite made of vexation

Divulged concerns to my, once recognizable, kindred spirit. Spoken feelings catch the wind, left unheard. The uneasiness that floods from me and into me. Bottling up. Shaking. Spinning. Unable to nourish this vessel without nearly casting it all back out. These social paragons are malign. I am tired in places sleep cannot reach. Existing where no one is looking.

...

Will laughter reach me again?

...

How does one loosen their grip without losing themself?