I am a torrential storm of strength

So much sadness.  My heart is broken into tiny fragments that stab and pierce each other until the pain is unbearable.  How does the organ that is the symbolic epitome of love make you feel such hatred when it is broken?  I have cried all the tears I can cry. The deep well of my soul has run dry, and with the drought, the earth of my being is cracked and barren; an angry dust storm of emotions.  (Is this why anger is a secondary emotion to sadness?  When it lacks rain to keep it moist and calm, the earth rebels by killing off all life leaving us with no food to satiate our hunger.  And so the soul, without tears to soothe our aching heart, dries up and becomes bitter and hateful). 

The loss is excrutiating.  How can a space so small feel as empty as the sky?  There is emptiness, and then there is the blackest depth, beyond all reach that another lifetime couldn't fill.  It is jumping off a cliff into a rumbling, foaming sea and continuing to fall until the rumbling ceases.  Stillness.  Dark.  Bottom.  Then delving off that deepest of depths like an underwater cliff diver except without the courage.  And just falling - in a continuous plummet because there is no bottom this time.  Just an eternal suspension in an infinite hole.  

The injustice is cruel.  In a world where right is wrong and wrong is right; bad is rewarded and good is punished to the highest degree.  And everything that follows the injustice seems like a prank being pulled by the 'man behind the curtain.'  You are not supposed to pay attention to him, but you really want to take his ropes and quickly, frantically form a noose.  A noose with which you can provide swift justice.  The correct kind of justice.  The kind in which bad people suffer and good people are showered with the gift of their every wish and desire - reasonable and unreasonable alike.   

The betrayal is unforgivable.  Words said and thoughtlessness can never be taken back.  Not when a hurt is this deep. 

The envy is sweet in its all self inflicted, sadistic glory.  Is it a test of my own will to do this?  To subject myself to situations I know will make me uncomfortable.  Is it because I think I deserved to be punished?  Or is it similar to the reasons we watch horror movies, we like the adrenaline rush and the feeling of relief once it's over?  Perhaps, I think it proves my strength - to whom? - to myself, I suppose.