As I look around me, I feel isolated.

I am lonely and afflicted; unable to escape my transgressions.

I often wonder if this is a grand punishment or divine test; stuck in the maze of my lamentations, with no understanding or indicator of which way is out.

It seems I am surrounded solely by those who are blinded by grandiose ideas;

Claims that grant only immediate satisfaction

But provide no authentic answer.

When I ask what is right, I am offered no reply.

This is them,

I am not.

Because I am not, I must be nothing.

I must be the space between conversations,

The last to be called.

I am a chess piece with no master

And I’ve run out of my own moves.

I’ve become a pawn,

Thrown mercilessly into the field with no other direction,

Forced to be swept away by other pieces.

Suddenly I am out of the game,

Hardly been given a fighting chance.

The duration of my usefulness was short-lived,

And like a child's toy,

Was discarded when a more colorful one appeared.

The web of thought is sticky,

As viscous as the mucous dripping from the broken-hearted’s nose,

Inescapable as the dark of the night,

However, still provides some sort of twisted comfort when nothing is inherently awry.

My quest for authenticity was diligent.

I did my best to do right,

To seek truth.

And yet the ominous animal of self-thought was ever present.

It seems my mind is an asylum

But everyone outside is crazy.

How could it be,