booktowrite

A dark serenity filters through from this black loneliness.
A knowledge that there is only distance in this space.
There is withdrawal.
There is peace only alone.
Being around others means disappointment.
They disappoint me and I disappoint them.
Its repulsive and futile.
Its disturbing and fragile.
We reach out and reach out
but there is always something or someone else, there is always a mess, there is always failure. Nothing lasts.
Im not even sure if anything even begins.
Silence sings out and in solitude I listen to its song of despair.
All hope is beyond repair as I see nothing but sorrow and suffering enveloped in fake joy.