Have you ever been within a crowd,
Yet, you are on the outskirts looking in?
You are the host.
Yet nothing revolves around you.
Heads come together â€“ whispering.
You are trying hard to participate.
Yet all is in vain.
For the harder you try,
The farther away you become.
Isolation holds you in a stronghold.
It will not let go.
It is chocking you. â€“
Yet you cannot pull yourself away.
It is disheartening and disillusioning
For me to watch the struggle,
And grow helpless in the face of this monster --
Even with the ones you love most,
It seems that the harder you try
To acquire their approval
The harsher their disapproval.
It becomes a tangible feeling
Which eats you up from the inside out,
â€™Til you become empty and incapable
Of giving or feeling. â€“
A shell containing flesh, blood and bone.
Where the blood drums into your ears
Flooding you with its beat,
Thus isolating you farther.
The death knell of such music
Dissolves your flesh,
Leaving only the bones intact. Yet --
Scavengers love bones,
And can smell the putrid flesh a mile away.
They lie in wait for the opportune time,
Then, stealthily -- pounce on the rotting flesh.
Nothing is left. For even the bone â€“
Is chipped upon â€˜til it too becomes ashes.
Finally, the wind scatters them into
The four corners of the world,
Until they accumulate in the East
And finally find peace.