sunday snow,

incompleted,

i smell previous meals beneath it,

but I'm not complete,

an art that is flourished,

some words that unburden,

but forget the cost.

This is where the magic happens;
solitude is of utmost integrity.

If I were a dew;
I would be the most travelled.
If I were the grass;
I would be the most still.

I am a hermit, unaware about my surroundings;
knowing all is interconnected within.

I am lost and in that I found myself;
I belong nowhere and in that I became of the universe.

I watch her dance in the pale moonlight,
Her wild heart that never stays.
Yet for her, the world stands still,
Her sigh breaks men like me.

In every glance, in every sigh,
She holds the world beneath her eyes.
A gentle hand, a steady will,
And when she smiles, the stars ignite.

For love is her, and she is love,
And in her eyes, I see it clear
All that I want, and all that’s dear.

There is freedom in isolation,
in being idle and invisible,
where one could sit in muteness,
swim widely in dusk and ask,
"Am I really here,
if no one is around to see?"
A different kind of suicide

There is pleasure in being a shadow,
in pretending you don't exist,
to avoid acting like you do

Solitude isn't a time for me
to let myself free
but rather a time to free myself
from who I am

Outside the confinement of company,
I am anyone and anything,
I am someone else, somewhere else
I am alive,
but I am no one
I am alone

a.r.

I mean...
You could’ve left me at the altar.
It could be worse than this.

Despite my heart dripping through
My broken rib cage...
It could be worse than this.

One day of feeling like I’m being
Crushed and flattened into mud.
But it’s okay,
Because I refuse to be worse than this.

Alone

It feels more than it really is,

Desolate abandoment
The void left by, taught through
The faces I would turn towards
And truest love I knew

Yet away from me, unhappily
Or indifferent, themselves turned.
Fixed, never to meet within my gaze like
My Life's their lesson learned

Falling in love with many a friend
From very early on
Where nothing matters like they do,
No matter that they've gone

No matter that the majority
And best parts of  life's real years,
Are spent relapsing in their memories
Though their aura disappears.

It really is more than it feels

Alone