Loneliness is not limited to states of solitary
It slyly seeps into honeycombs of supposed happiness
It blankets the excitement of possibility
One does not feel the buzz of throbbing bodies in a busy box
The house is there but the resident is not
Aimlessly wandering in the maze of surrealism that survives in the sausage-like folds of the brain
The tape worm that shimmies along the walls of your pia mater
The interdependence of body and mind has severed
The body is limp and the mind is spoiled, recently inhabited by snarky maggots that insult you left and right.