"i don't suppose anyone here knows how to exist" i say, calling into the endless void full of voices, where the loud is so real and intertwined with my own heartbeat it sounds like silence.

it does not carve a place inside my heart and demand it empty. this hollowness sits beside me like an oak tree, overshadowing and demanding. I fear it will become so great that I'll forget how to feel as it towers over me. Even while the beating of my heart peers from behind the leaves. Still there but ignored in favour of the desolate sky.

even the darkest minds can drip gold;
pink roses can bloom behind ****** chain link fences,
as leaves can stay orange as they float in puddles reflecting gray.

there’s always stars in the dark.

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.