Bread and Cheese
French bread has been my food today. Has nourished me through dissappointment, and adventure, amusement and exhaustion. I went to a party and felt more alone among the multitudes than I felt all by myself, identity stipped away a bit to mere survival, and the smoke and smell of alcohol lingered heavily in the air. I tired of the alchemy and walked alone, and sat alone, and thought alone, bitterness and hatred swelled in me, but not for my compatriots but for myself I found. I had no right to hatred, I would punish happiness when I saw it because I could find none, what beast was this that loneliness created. Before too long I found myself again, discovered not a hate-filled tyrant, but a child filled with loathing, filled with fear, commanded by what I could not have, or what I would not have. The weakness then is not giving in, but failing to, not a defeat to care, befriend, no victory to stand alone, aloft. I dreamt alone last night, insanity my due. Then find the light alone, before my life is through.