It isn’t a dark, empty room.
It isn’t being outside looking in.
It isn’t being surrounded by people,
Yet feeling out of place, unseen.
It’s a massive pit in your stomach.
It’s standing alone in a dim, never-ending hall,
Never being able to escape.
Never seeing, hearing, feeling another soul.
It’s a little bit of hope torn from you
With each silent, screaming sob.
It’s knowing you’ll wake up tomorrow
Surrounded by people, but not trusting it’s real.
It’s looking out at the world, the people,
And wondering, “Are any of them real?”
It’s loving the stars and moon
But being terrified of the night.
Loneliness is knowing your people
Are in the next room
But not trusting they won’t disappear
Before you walk through the door.
It’s a pain so deep and feral
You will never be without it.
It’s realizing you will always go back
To a place that could be full of people.
But you will always end up alone,
Silently screaming while you sob,
Tearing at your chest, your hair, stomach, clothes.
Trying to tear out that pit because
Feeling nothing is better than feeling this.
It’s sitting in places full of people,
Drowning everything out with music
To stave off the inevitable thoughts and feelings.
It’s gluing yourself to your friends at every opportunity.
It’s wondering when you’re going to wake up
To one of your greatest fears.
Loneliness is a nothing that takes everything.
