Pain is the rawest emotion I have ever felt in my life. Much of my petty existence is filled with an overwhelming feeling of numbness, until a deep pain strikes. Not physical pain; I can bite my nails until I bleed and feel nothing from it.
Instead, it is the pain of existence, ergo, a life of pain; a life of decay, that I experience. Worse still, it feels, as it were, that the pain has no purpose. In many a story, the protagonist experiences deep pain, but they can pin the blame on someone; they have a goal to avenge their suffering. I have no such luck. Yet still I try, try again. This pain I have experienced has turned me into a person I have disdain for. So often I struggle to be my genuine self because I am, in some cruel pavlovian manner, conditioned to fear the unknown. The unknown can hurt, and by God I must never hurt again. In this way I have become my own foe in my crusade for a soul. I no longer need neglectful parents to tell me I am useless, I have learned from them to do it to myself.
To this point I question whether it is too late for me. Perhaps I am doomed to the dustbin; perhaps I have been too gravely injured to do anything worth meaning in this world. My friends and contemporaries who share or exceed my pain have all fallen to such lows. What pompous fool am I to think I would be any different?
Yet I cannot stop my dream of being someone. I have no desire to become famous; but I seek listeners. I seek people who could feel something from my words; feel heard. If I could just have that... Maybe the pain would lessen.
My soul hides from me
Reveal yourself, soul of mine!
The pain hath passed!