Incarceration Of The Self

Is my soul so lonely that one conversation manifests into an entire fantasy?

It hurts to know my mind will be preoccupied for ages, but I've probably already been forgotten.

This seems to be the pattern I follow, the pattern sewn into my fabric of isolation.

Meet somebody, let fear keep me distant, then live with the regret of never knowing what could have been.

I abhor that people don't know who I really am, but is it not I who withholds myself?

I hide my light with shadow, hold on to my cloud of grey, for my heart is far to fragile,

It could never handle rejection, or to be broken by any hands other than my own.

I’ve learned to keep my gaze on the ground, and let my words fall empty,

Even if all else fails, distance will protect me.

The same distance that torments my conscience? 

I'm a fool if I think there's an easy way out, there is grief on either side.

I can let it be the weight of isolation,

Or the detriment that comes with loving someone you will eventually lose.

At the end of the day, this encounter, like every other, will just be another person I never get close to, another person that fades away eventually. 


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