Language and Being

I don’t speak English, though it be my only language. I held inside my hell, closed tight and hidden just for me, then my words became a fine spirit of pain distilled. The spoken word of articulated screams. Barely heard when first we speak, words with shadows vaguely heard.

So I volume up my voice, growling, like a beast with no manners nor identifiable source of pain. Just being like this is my pain. Nobody came to help out of pettiness or solidarity nor even to find out what happened.

The disappointment and anger I felt was not even covering the pain of what is happening to me. I feel so alone, even with people more like “strangers” all around me.

I stare blankly into space and be living in an alternate reality for some time just watching myself and strangers, all as if it were a movie. Maybe I do not really exist on this earth but do so in another dimension and witnessing that unfold

again and again in an endless loop that I had no control over. It was just as well. It’s not like I wanted it to stop. Alternate reality? Maybe maybe not. Don't know don't care. I just let it come back to me, and I continue to feel the bliss and the pain, for the rest of my life.