the island
and then you have the weird one
who ran away
before she could utter the first word
perhaps he was just afraid
she was confused
like many others who did
he slipped with a million things in his head
whines to his friends
his loneliness blamed on luck
and on everything and everyone else but himself
shuts himself
not before others shunned him
sulks himself to sleep
sulks himself to tears
all these years
not willing to bite back
now bent and crippled
from all these bitterness
even solitude dessert him
ever more drifted
a floating cave of crumbling walls
in this ocean of many truths
where is the island?
without a hint of realisation
that he had been one
