Sunday, 30 November 2014

59 days of loneliness

My feet drag along the sodden ground and I move tortuously up the boulevard. My parents gone, my soul trapped and my body entwined around the finger of somber. Engrossed in sadness, the melancholia capturing my serenity. My life is fake and optimism is right, life doesn't matter, reality is false. An oblivious figure ambled up to me then faded and I knew it was a hallucination, a wanting for the sight of life. My head swam, my conscience started waning and I sunk into the sludge, crying. Tear drops sunk into my skin and my hand shifted to the scar of my fear.
'Come' He had pleaded.
'I can't' I had bawled, knowing that if I go all hope would be lost.
He then left, the last sight of life gone, and alone I wait for the world to ebb away and perish. I perch on the grove where sorrow and agony fulfills me. Crumbling to the ground, I cry into the night,
'I'm sorry.'
But I knew grief was my fate and loneliness and being scandalized was meant to be. Defiance mounts into my lungs and I feel rebellious and enraged. Even a reprobate would give me confidence and meaning. 59 days, was the last word he said, the one who left me alone, but what does it mean? 59 days he repeated. 59 days, he said passively. 59 days left, he said frigidly. 59 days alone...

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