It’s not the separation part of a hostile break up that hurts the most.
Not the physical pain of a phantom limb.
Not the sore skin under a ripped off bandaid.
It isn’t the short term emotional pain after experiencing loss.
Nor is it the near death experience of drowning in shallow water.
There are no words or drugs to fix it, but I have been alone my entire life - I know very well how love doesn’t always work both ways.
It’s the part in which I get betrayed that cuts the deepest.
That deliberate destruction of my person - by the shortcomings of another man.
The fact that I’m not only not good enough, but a mere afterthought.
A massive scam, a waste of my life time.
This is the serious wound. An internal bleeding. The long term impairment that inspires most of my writing.