Distressed casket of aloneness

tightens like vice while

I linger in meadow of corpses.

The sharp wind torments

with needled pain.

Alone with my reflection

in mirrored clouds,

I battle the squall

battering my core,

mind screaming in

rusted swords of agony,

wounded by dark worms

that made the choice

to take you from me

as I struggled

to knock down

the bodies of those

standing guard

over your grave.

I wail dirges of blindness

to your dying flowers.

I can’t hear your heartbeat

as I drip on the earth

like hot candle wax,

onyx eyes shuttered

against wounds of death.

I wear my white raiment

waiting to return

to your cushioning arms.

I was born from the sky

to which I return,

bearing sad echoes

in spasms of rain.

True loneliness is not being alone in an empty room but feeling alone in a room full of people. Being surrounded by people who make you feel alone.

I see them laughing; smiling.

(Why can't I smile? Why is it so hard?)

Loud chatter and cheerful screams reach my ears.

Thoughts fill my head but no words leave.

(Who will listen?)

In that moment, I feel truely alone.

(I don't belong here...)