Loss, why art thou this painful?

At Loss.

The feeling churns in your stomach. You can feel it within your bowels.

It keep hammering the deepest recesses of your core, and every fibre of your being with unrelenting throngs of gut-wrenching pain, that knows no bounds.

It sickens. Like acid, it corrodes and deforms personalities, if its victim’s aren’t strong enough to rebound. Tasted bile before? Very bitter!

At Loss

Great men can be unmade by it. It shatters their beliefs and everything they hold dear. Men cry, weep, wail, sob like babies and sissies if they're hit by it.

It constricts the heart, like a boar constrictor suffocating its unfortunate prey, and cuts off blood flow, looking on unconcerned with a stoic face as its victim's very essence and sanity slowly ebbs away.

It has no respect for calibre, creed, or gender.

This feeling has the ability to make you re-evaluate what you hold dear.

As the realization of how important 'that-which-was-but-is-now-not' hits you, you begin to gnaw the walls of your cheeks as though, a retaliation of the piercing emptiness you feel in your heart.

Teeth clench hard with chipping noise as one teeters on the edge of pain pushed by regret.

LOSS, why art thou this painful?

At Loss

You have no mercy. You proffer no 'second chances'.

There’s no turning back once you reveal your presence, coming down hard and merciless, like Thor’s hammer.

You humble pomposity, and I agree with you, but you have no consideration for the poor, the weary, the weak, or the sick.

May I be selfish and plead that you discriminate?

Why don’t you humble only the pompous, the arrogant and the wicked people who have no mercy whatsoever for the poor and the weak?

Inspired by Dominus Shedur 🙏