Alienated on this deserted island,
I panic fearfully,
clawing my blistered fingers into the lustrous sand,
something metallic scratches my hand,
an unbidden stream of red torrent rushing down, echoes of voices rang piercingly through my ears, was I alone I disclosed,
in a free world of anarchy, with the exclusion of humanity, I sat there in introversion, misapprehended from what lies on the peripheral, there it was I who meets perception.