by: Perry Loggins


With a forlorn hope, he expected the questions to arise, “Are you ok? How have you been?”
But his sluggish shoulders showed the inaccuracy of his prediction.
People passed. Walked by. Feeding on their own parasites. Leaches ******* the blood of all their hopes and dreams. Survival. They were just trying to survive.
Another breath for themselves.
Incapable of extending a life vest, because there was only one left.

Tick. Tock. The isolation intertwines within the troubled soul. Growing daily, it marches with conviction.
“I **, I **, it’s off to work we go!”
The morbidity of his suffering fails to startle those he meets. He covers it well behind the mask.
A smile. A gesture. “I’m fine,” he replies.
Off the hook, he thinks.
They don’t have to feel the pain.

In the abyss of loneliness, you discover your truths.
Your ideals.
Somber tones paper themselves upon the the walls of your heart.
You become disenchanted with those that seek joy.
A happiness that forever eludes you.
The solitude beckons you each morning.
Triumphating its arrival with horns and confetti.
A celebration of an event with which you were not invited.

Tapered wings fold in half, silent breaths become no more. The somber soul forever frozen.
With a wistful blink, he gathers his thoughts.
“I loved them so much, but can love no more.”
The mask is taken off. So pure. So white.