I feel you, I know you, I find you insufferable. You know not my voice, touch, or grace. And yet I hate you for my invisibility. This corner painted by my blood coagulates into a trapped cave to drown in. I wish for you, or anyone to unveil my sanction. I already know what you think of me. So, in my pit I weep. In the dark I whittle the mold of someone I do not know, someone I do not fit, someone I don't trust. In the silence nobody persists. There is a shell, waiting to be adopted by the naive. The shell doesn't know where they travel, or to what end misery will betray them. To know your structure, feign, belief, should be a crime in itself. I hate you, because I am no one to myself. Without you, I am void, I am not disgraceful or kind, there is no distinction. Within you, I fester, I feed, I am you.