by Violet

it’s pretty, i can see all of it; and it is all so pretty. i like it, i do, but i don’t belong as a part of any of it.. any. of. it.

it’s fine.

i never did; so i couldn’t actually fathom the loss.

except that i also can’t not feel the emptiness of what it all leaves as consuming residue.. within me.

of that too, i am aware.
i’m left with nothing but wonderment and empathy; to keep going on.

oh, and the delusional hope that maybe one day, a faulty, out of place miscalculation as myself, could fit in with maybe a cancerous mass of mutated individualists.