Farce

In this hour of chaos, where the mist of uncertainty clouds my mind and the poison of doubt corrupts it, I can't help but realize something. Funny, how we preach that our anchor should be someone who connects us to sanity and clears all that pushes us into the dark, but choose someone for an anchor who shatters us, fully, without leaving one ounce of our body unbroken. Funny, truly it is, that I chose my anchor to be someone much worse. At least with others, there's a chance of recuperation, for broken pieces to be brought together to form something stronger. With mine, none. My anchor consumed the flawed me, leaving no trace of who I was. Challenged every thing I believed in, only to get stronger. When they think of it this way, I see what I call my anchor, as parasitic, something far from what could possibly keep you from insanity. The idea of it feeding on me haunts them. But, I keep telling them, and maybe a part of me, that it isn't true. Speculation always ge