In the castle of spirits, within a kingdom of loneliness, souls are drenched in torment and agony. Here, loneliness reigns, its cruel necromancy seeping into every corner, absorbing all in its grip. It holds them in a tight embrace, and within this realm, there is only anguish and melancholy.
Lonely as a flag standing motionless on a desolate pole, or as a moon, hidden during an eclipse, I feel the isolation settle like a cloak around me. I am as a deadly cobra, slithering through an unpaved desert, its existence a quiet, dangerous solitude. A statue stands alone on the crag of a fort, its form unyielding, but frozen in silence. I am as an unfathomable sea, churning in a storm so horrendous it seems it will never end. I am a single tree, the last of its kind, standing in a burnt forest, a symbol of survival, yet empty in its loneliness.
I am a wilted leaf, forgotten in a grassy meadow, blown away by the winds of neglect. A pebble cast carelessly into a quagmire, sinking into the mud with no purpose. Waterfalls cascade into the mist, their beauty lost in the fog, their sound a distant echo. A fountain that runs no more in a haunted house, its waters dry, just a memory of what once was.
Loneliness is like a land ravaged by wrath—desolate, barren, untouched by joy. It is like an old librarian, tucked away in the corners of a forgotten library, surrounded by dust and silence. It is like an ancient fossil encased in glass, a relic of another time, untouched, never to be rediscovered. Like debris and remnants of a dead city, all that remains is the echo of lives once lived.
Loneliness, disguised as pain, is like a spider caught in the web it weaves, trapped in its own creation. It is like a bottle of perfume, once full of fragrance, now lying discarded in a trash can, forgotten and ignored. All of us, victims to this cruel force, left to suffer in silence, buried beneath the weight of solitude.