Walking through the moshpit of people,
the thick, congestible smoke came forth,
summoned by a hollow feeling— an empty body.
Only the destined, dark fog approaches,
encircling me like a hug,
An entity like I— in solidarity, solitude.
Stone pathways of forced proximity blur as
the blind and tunnel-visioned pass.
Flashes of fair light that fate does grant is all I get.
Others bathe in luminous comfort that comes from being in groups.
Two would do, but I am still alone;
I am the small point of grey clouds that
cumulate and grow darker.
Contrasting realities don’t notice
because the fluorescent glow hides the balls of cotton
stained black.
About the Creator
Erin Winans
Hello! I'm Erin and I'm a recent graduate from James Madison University. Ultimately, my dream job is to become a film critic, so I made a personal blog in which I post reviews I write in my free time.
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