I am.

In these days going by, you can find me isolated.

Feverishly finding the plan inside me, all the while destitute from love and relations because my name is attached to an idea or a person or a moment.

I’m abandoned with my self, procuring a habit to better what’s real life for me.
I’m hungry from angst of pain in loss of life and love.
I’m imprisoned in my own thought pattern,
Trying to gain from this circumference of creation.

I am alone.

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