The isle of the lonely and lost.

While stuck in this forced individuality, I concede and contemplate the whereabouts of my new found actuality. I sit and I sway in the mild, in the wild evening May as I bring forth a new day and say, “I might have to pray.” I awake in a way that brings about tears from what I hear. Over and over again it plays, the words and experiences of those I once held dear. I break away from the flood gates of fear and I pressure the hell of what constantly draws near. With all my might held close to what call my heart I run full throttle into the distant art. A familiar voice brings about a stalling part only to have another shoot passed me like a dart. I reach an equilibrium that brings me to the shore-front of my many passing assumptions, only to find those that I held close were not far from my current pendulum. I search high and low only to be temporarily hurt by my emotions while working through the motions. I end my journey at the open sea, only to be shot with the blunt notion of the everlasting ocean holding may hold the answers that I seek. I again hear a voice that brings back a meek fleet of emotion. I turn to see if my imagination is correct, only to see those dear to me. I slowly walk to a peak and tearfully speak, “I knew I’d get to talk at least once more.” Then I truly awake only to find that my day was a sham.