Loneliness to me does not have a pure definition.

It’s knowing that no one can hold onto me for I cannot hold myself long enough to feel the freedom of life, it’s being in the company of the stable whilst feeling like an unsteady lifeline on mute.

It’s abandonment before being abandoned, it’s having left myself before I met myself, for I have never truly become.

It’s alienation and alienating, both within and without, it’s hiding whilst shining and fading whilst visible.

It's exposed shadowed numbness while your world finds your heartbeat, its death while breathing.

It's unlovable daunting trauma, and now… it’s me, the unwavering indescribable description of a rigid self. Me.

Because another sips
     Her nectar, Death,
          Today
Please kiss these dusty lips,
     And take my breath
          Away.

Tonight I'll pour my favorite wine,  
Then set the hearth's kindling ablaze;
Countless hours will be spent pondering
The past's carefree and  blissful days

There I am!  a girl of just twenty,
With nimble step and flying hair;
Searching for love, I was confident --
As for suitors, I had my fair share

Flowers and flattery and romance
Would frequently call at my door;
Youthful days filled with Love's promise . . .
Even Heaven could offer no more!

The men were handsome, witty and fun,
Showing utmost propriety;
Strangely, I turned my back to them all --
Not one stirred Love's passion in me

But Time paid no heed to my folly,
And one by one my dreams went astray;
The shining rays of hope had grown dim --
Too often I'd turned Love away

Now each night my heart reprimands me,
Repeating "O, what have you done?"
Mistrust and indecision be ******!
I curse, and then cry for The One  

Now I watch the sun slowly descending
Deep into the Sea of Remorse;
Have I been condemned to this anguish,
Or might Fate kindly alter its course?

But the flames of hope turn to embers
As I sit alone sipping my wine,
I know somewhere there's a lonely man . . .
The One who should have been mine!

I sit here, posting, writing,
Yearning for attention,
Hoping for hearts I might earn
From the avid reader.

I check, and check, and check again—
Yet nothing takes effect.
My heart grows tender,
Dreaming of climbing stature,
But the steep hill looms impossible to capture.

Still, I post, still I write,
Determined to yearn and fight.

For many decades, I believed
that selling my heart was worth it.
Without ceremony,
at a bargain price,
to entrust it to better hands.

I believed that the mutual morning
would return with
the first breath.
The first light green tear
will be resurrected under the eyelid -
there is too much loneliness.

It came to light - prayers
will remain unanswered
if anxiety does not find its way,
does not reach
the margin of future.

You dreamed clearly
and to spite my melancholy; I felt
the taste of forbidden words,
the breath of thoughts
that were waiting for
their turn.

You know, I would like to dedicate
to you the remnant of light -
tenderness belongs to
someone else.

Passion? Shame on me
to admit my silence.
Will I find you when one more sip
of life, the last unintentional cry,
has simply faded away?
Will you return to hand me
eternity, again late, again lost?

I found you on the wrong side
of chiaroscuro.
I asked for sleepless raindrops,
so unlike your tears.

I tried to dream the future,
so that the door would remain
open and the window would be barred.

I know that you are
still looking for a way back - dawn
will not compensate you.
Twilight will not give you
forbidden fruits, although your skin
will be rough.

I want to breathe unknown air,
feel a touch so generous
that I will forget the directions
of the world, the amount of tears
I have shed.

You immerse yourself in me,
although I miss my own world so much.
I recognize in you
the tenderness for which I still
talk to the stars,
I am ashamed of the Moon.