Solitude has an evil twin.
It gnaws at your insides
As if time, ending you
Second by second,
Painfully slow, isn't enough.
It clutches at your throat
With a vice like grip
Because when feelings
Get scared of being
Accustomed to,
They hurt you the most.
It creeps into the mind
And leaves hickeys
Of unsolved riddles:
Questions that were never
Born with answers to them;
Premonitions, doubts
Its loyal sentries that sting.
And when tears wash
Your tired eyes to sleep,
It rests, satiated, to have
Taken control, at last.
Solitude has an evil twin,
And we call it loneliness.
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