Hurricane of Solitude
- 8 hours ago
- 1 min read
By: Francesca Rolton
alone
lone
one
no
oh…
the accumulation of tiny gashes
from the hurricane of loneliness:
fractured shards of rejection
whirling,
gritty sand of frustration
grinding against skin,
harsh raindrops of disappointment
pummeling my eyes.
Pricking skin,
drawing little drops of blood,
they trickle down,
bonding together in some forced, resolute dance.
Small soldiers in arms
marching off to a battle of hopelessness;
the futility echoes in the air around them,
yet they're committed to their martyrdom.
The wounds grow deeper,
loneliness peeling away more
and more layers of skin.
A temporary bandage of distraction
is placed upon the cuts,
the temporary appeasement fleeting,
fading far too fast.
And when that doesn't work,
more drastic measures are needed
peroxide poured onto the cuts,
watching them bubble and sting,
the pain providing some relief
from the heart's aching void.
But the cuts fester,
and the wounds reopen.
They can't heal.
Oh God,
the bleeding won't stop.
It pours and pours,
every last droplet leaking out,
leaving me with nothing
but skin coating bones,
no essence of life remains.
8/12/2026
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