There is freedom in isolation,
in being idle and invisible,
where one could sit in muteness,
swim widely in dusk and ask,
"Am I really here,
if no one is around to see?"
A different kind of suicide

There is pleasure in being a shadow,
in pretending you don't exist,
to avoid acting like you do

Solitude isn't a time for me
to let myself free
but rather a time to free myself
from who I am

Outside the confinement of company,
I am anyone and anything,
I am someone else, somewhere else
I am alive,
but I am no one
I am alone

a.r.

Today has a weird air about it,
It’s sunny and bright and still
But it feels like mourning.

Is this preemptive?
Premonition?
Or a soft surrender to all my trauma.
A delicate laying down of flowers,
Soft cloths,
A blanket of tears
For versions of me that never survived
Or who were taken by the darknesses.

i met a girl in the grocery store parking lot
i could tell she liked me an awful lot
i felt like a real winner
when she invited me for dinner
but now my toes are boiling in her ***