On loneliness

What is loneliness? A crushing force: a vacuum that steals the life-colors from everything, and turns it into a drape of grey. Even the prancing trees have darkened, slowed to a solemn still. Words, poetry, philosophy, what were once the great elixirs of melancholic moods, are now stale and ineffective.

What is loneliness? A tide of chemicals: a poison that streams through the veins and arteries. With every heave of the heart, a dull pain pulsates. Not even reason has the capability to expunge the poison. When once it had all the power, now it’s a plebeian; worse a mendicant, powerless, and struggling in a pointless battle.

What is loneliness? A folly of the mind: a clumsy tumbling into ignorance. It hearkens not to that beacon so ablaze with light and future joys, but to the snark and malicious deep-dweller who stands beckoning at the edge of a shadowy forest. Oh mind, has emotion made slippery all the surfaces that you can find no foothold? You are slipping, slipping into despair.

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