Loneliness.

You ask what it feels like to be alone? It feels like one's sins that have yet to be atoned. Like, the promise of death just slightly postponed. Loneliness is like a cyclone, that rips through a city and tears through its bones. It is the scent of another's cologne, on the collar of the one that you brought into your home. But of being alone all I am qualified to say, is that it can turn your hair instantaneously grey. I have known it to strip some bare, to leave them in the cold with nothing to wear. It has darkened my days, and stolen the light that used to come as such a comfort on cold, lonely nights. I am now filled with fright, and often contrite as I rarely know when I will eat my next bite. I have lost all will to fight, as I smile insipidly, such a miserable sight. Loneliness is the one whose name I will scream for murdering my young and wearing my heart on its sleeve. It has taken my breath right out of my lungs, whipped me in the scorching heat of the desert sun. I am no longer one, as I falter and fail; like the missing voice of a melodious nightingale. I will wither and writhe from loneliness and it's scythe; it was like the grim reaper as it reaped my soul, left me with nothing, and refused to console . . me as the tears poured from my eyes. Left in a daze and questioning why. How at once does all this pain exist inside my slender frame? But alas, I've come to know that loneliness is the one that I shall accost for all of the joys that I have lost.