Misery loves company to distract it from insatiable appetite. It is a beast, obese and abominable. Lonely it feeds on life, your energy it devours. Taking their shredded rags of clarity to knit a jacket with seams of seems and buttons of breathlessness. I’ve come to realize that things that don’t kill you only make you stronger, but there are just some things that might not kill you, but make you wish you were dead.
Flee most the lachrymose. For it may not be their intention - though it usually is - they’re sure to suffocate you in sorrow.
