You See Them, the Lonely Ones

You see them on the streets
Inwardly crumpling bit by bit as they watch themselves fade into statistics
If eyes could make tally marks,  their skin is a canvas of pale desolation
White sheets, drawn and faded, with a smattering of features observing their bodies unwillingly be camouflaged
Their skin is hungry, rumbling to be touched and their eyes are pooling with ink bleeding into the edges and filling all they are
All that they aren’t
Whispering hymns and making statements in the silence
A cacophony of stillness to tell them their lonely.
 
We always look for loneliness in blackened corners, spread unwilling hands to check the darkness for lost souls
Determined to face what we fear and emerge heroes we approach the homeless man, the alcoholic, the widowed bride
In rushes of man made kindness we look for those with loneliness engraved in dark letters, spilling across their faces
Their wrists
And hurry by those frozen in patches of light
Isolated by their own anomynity
But not yet broken and therefor undeserving of heroism
This day and age kindness demands recognition
and since loneliness isn’t terminal  
we treat the side effects
we have changed the definition of kindness into warped synonyms of pity
and loneliness with its salty emptiness
and bitter after taste
lacks broken limbs and malfunctioning organs
to warrant enough pity to be kind
dressed up in silky blouses and four bedroom houses we cannot condescend loneliness enough to stipulate a cure
so we malnourish the thriving lonely, staving off attention
and let them watch their dusty bone fingers grab at thin air
fading between the cracks in our minds too flooded with irrelvevant words
 
if I could change anything I would change this
this loneliness
this biting ache that consumes you not in fire or passion but with cold disintegration
slow and quiet
stripping you of the luxury of words to accompany your dilapidated thoughts riddled with dementia
and neglecting to stain you with the blood and joy of others
unraveling threads and stories that make you alive as much as a beating heart
I would change how blatantly we banish those declared as weak because they are beginning to bend
And tend to those who have already broken
Like we can only save those who have already fallen through the grate of society
 
I hate that we walk by people with paper skin and bleeding eyes
Already told each day in the absence of sugary hellos and rich farewells 
or even simple pleasures of eyes meeting in small bursts of acknowledgement
That they are not worth it
 
I hate that we let them be lonely
 

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