A warm embrace not unlike the sun, that has living breath controlling its heat. In my mind, in the solitude that is my sorrow, my thoughts are lonely. My mind can not entwine itself with another, nor even have the chance to reflect such another mind that may be stubborn enough to love mine own. The cold, impersonal fingers or loneliness encompass my heart causing an un-explodable bursting that pressures my chest. The cage of my heart, and lattice of bone that restricts its explosion, pains me beyond my protection of emotion, beyond the barriers that pump the fiery blood of my veins. The icy knives penetrate my very being, slashing in bloody pain, yet the suffering in the lonely silence blesses what I see. The darkness and cool, clammy echos of hollowed heels brushing the floor expand at infinite lengths.
Loneliness entraps me not, for its expanse is unending. No walls echo my voice, no warmth has source, even rose-scarlet blood is unsegregated in the variations of the lonely.
Circling winds throw up the remains of lonely predecessors on the darkened path. The lonely that mine eyes never set upon. The souls who sought that simple warmth sink into further loneliness in dunes of invisible sand.
The strength of the consuming loneliness screams through silence, breaking barriers and piercing every living being. Walls demolished, release solo pain, and bore into my chest, filling my person with a light air that I could only be freed of if I had no lone ness.