Solitude helps me find shelter in pain
the inspiration comes as a form of retaliation
against the incertitudes of the heart
interludes of interwinding moments.
Words only write themselves
if there's suffering to be had;
ageless solitude is immortal
like ghosts of loves past.

Love in the time of cholera
love in the time of aids
uncertain loves in the times I live
I roam the Earth without being part of it
only certain of my own existence
in any given moment, time or place
I live where I don't belong
and yet I don't belong where I live.

Solitude has bonded
with what is left of me
scrapping together the remains of my soul
becoming one with my bones.

Like a mortal disease
and yet its bitterness
taste better than any sweets
I wouldn't trade it for anything that breathes,
anything that touches the Earth
anything that sees the Sun.

My notepad becomes
engulfed with it's aroma
and it's aura escapes through my pores
turning this pen into a sword
stained with my revenge
there is nothing I wouldn't dare to say
if my heart is ravaged with pain
painted with disdain
repossessing my very being
that it wouldn't dare to lose;
Solitude feeds my spirit
better than any muse.

Anything that ever needed
to be said or written
has seen the light of day
Solitude finds a way
to re-arrange the alphabet
when words are scarce,
when nothing comes my way
I will take these scribes
when my flesh only knows darkness
not seen by the sun,
but in one with the Earth.