Birth of Solitude

A home-stricken, blind little girl.
She calls to the wind, a cry of boredom,
To relieve her of boundaries.
She whimpers to the world her state of
Loneliness.
The world zones out her faint shriek.
Her eyes deliver sight of the gloomy abyss;
Sense of touch shows her texture of all things.
She walks. She falls. It echoes. She cries.
She crawls and feels for a corner to shrivel in.
Sitting there at the edge of humanity,
Waiting to fall.

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