You’re on yr own, mate.

When it comes down to it,
All the person footholds I grasp out at,
Evaporate like so many bubbles.

So I’m left here at the station,
Falling through a vast longing.
So many people around me,
All obscured by an icy claustrophobia.

I feel like a violin with no head,
The strings of my broken connections,
Still twanging discordantly in the wind.

As I breathe in, I long to touch just one,
Of the souls on the platform.
But I can only watch my own loneliness,
Reflected across the gulf between us.

The road of relationship always leads,
Back to the point of me,
On my own, staring at another world.

I am like the sailor, dying of thirst,
Tantalized by a vast expanse of water,
Though he knows that if he drinks,
It will only make him more thirsty.


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