My once peaceful solitude has become insufferable
loneliness.
Avoiding human interaction
when I don't get paid for it
No smile in pictures
when I take them of myself
Staying inside all day
because I find no sensation
I grew accostumed to the doom
of someone slowly fading
away in their room
It's sad, for you, it's a waste
you probably never tried
to dwell in your own place
question what you've been taught
accept nothing that's free
never participate in the lottery
why would anyone give you anything?
It is not the nature of men
Yes, the earth is beautiful
there's a lot to catch up on
watch me as I catch up on it
in cafes, book stores,
my whole day off
reading, writing
letting happen
avoiding my phone
Vibration Training:
there's no department of
Keeping Forever yet
so you learn to forget,
set to reset
train to get fat
You are destined to be gone
Coming and going is the same
that you can take nobody with you
is the only difference
Nobody, except the music in your head
the music stays
it is your only companion
Let me tell you this;
If you meet a loner,
No matter what they tell you,
It's not because they like solitude.
It's because they have tried to blend into the world before,
And people continue to disapoint them.
Impact (P1)
As they pushed through the doors, Leoli and Marcurio left the
dwarven ruins, the afternoon sun kissing their faces through
the pines the stood high ahead. Beneath their feet lay a foot
of stone slab, and underneath the slab was deep, unquarried
stone, against steep rugged wilderness which stretched out
beneath the two mortals for a half a mile. Leoli turned and
looked to Marcurio, her eyes gleaming through her helm.
“What now?” they seemed to ask him. Marcurio met
her gaze, asking himself the same question, and sighed.
“Well,” he muttered. He looked downhill and
noted the path that cut through the Druadac Mountains to the
south, towards Markarth, and to the north, towards Solitude.
For a moment, all was peaceful. As this occurred, Leoli knelt
and prayed to Boethiah; removing her helm and setting it on
the ground, she took her face in her hands and mumbled in
prayer. Brushing her hands back through her tangled locks she
raised her hands and continued, her voice hushed.
As she
did this, Marcurio evaluated their position. Once determining
there was no other way than to propel downhill, he tightened
his gauntlets at his wrists, and then gathered his
master’s loot in a knapsack on his back. Suddenly, he
heard someone approaching. A band of highwaymen advanced, and
after sighting the two adventurers, announced their presence,
the chief bandit calling his men to arms.
“Master,” Leoli heard, and looked up. Her
young mercenary’s voice was firm and warning. As she
looked towards the path, the highwaymen drew their bows from
their backs, their leather armor stretching faintly in
unison. Drawing their arrows back, a roar came from the
chief, and the arrows flew free. Leoli gasped with sharp pain
as steel pierced the chain mail at her neck, blood
immediately running just below her wound at her collarbone.
As it hit, she caught herself against the edge of the stone
slab. Marcurio quickly looked to her, hearing the
arrow’s impact and dove to catch her.
Blood running
dark from her wound, Leoli held the arrow between her fingers
and stood with Marcurio’s help. Steel firing in their
direction, they ducked as Marcurio led Leoli back into the
ruins.
When I was a
kid,
10, 11, 12, 13, the thing I wanted most was a best friend. I wanted to be important to people; to have people that understood me. I wanted to be close to someone. And back then a thought would go through my head constantly: "There's never going to be a room someplace where there's a group of people sitting around, having fun, hanging out, where one of them goes: 'you know what would be great? We should call Will. Yeah that would be good.' That'll never happen. There's nothing interesting about me.
10, 11, 12, 13, the thing I wanted most was a best friend. I wanted to be important to people; to have people that understood me. I wanted to be close to someone. And back then a thought would go through my head constantly: "There's never going to be a room someplace where there's a group of people sitting around, having fun, hanging out, where one of them goes: 'you know what would be great? We should call Will. Yeah that would be good.' That'll never happen. There's nothing interesting about me.
Let me tell
you this
If you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it's not because they enjoy solitude. It's
because they have tried to blend into the world before and people continue to disappoint them.
If you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it's not because they enjoy solitude. It's
because they have tried to blend into the world before and people continue to disappoint them.
I find it
That I tend to hate myself more than I hate people
And
that say's a lot.
That I tend to hate myself more than I hate people
And
that say's a lot.
Solitude
I haven't decided if my room
Is more of a cell
Or a sanctuary
I guess each day
Will tell a different story
Is more of a cell
Or a sanctuary
I guess each day
Will tell a different story
Loneliness is black coffee and late-night television; solitude is herb tea and soft music. Solitude, quality solitude, is an assertion of self-worth, because only in the stillness can we hear the truth of our own unique voices. --Pearl Cleage
