Pen held in hand, paper flat

I look around, hear only silence

Loneliness being a prescription for prose.

Brain rustles with unknown voices

Which speak of me, amongst themselves.

I know I don't write a poetic word

All I have is my thoughts.

I could be with others, but find

Solitude to be the finest friend

When a soul is too raw for humankind.

If pain is the only proof of existence

Then my choice is not to be.

You can claw at my soul

And claw and claw and claw...

I still have my room,

Steel and concrete in construction, and

My pen will never leave my hand.

� Rainbowturtle