No known direction is meant for you.

Not east, nor west, nor north, not even south.

But you're not lost. Just alone.

Somewhere between the trail ways,

your steps are heading.

Unknown to them, no one to complicit,

no one to contribute, no one to take part in.

No one to understand, no one to hold

your hand.

The landing place is obscure.

You're by yourself, wired with solitary.

Detached from the route, which they, for you 

provided.

You're by yourself, wrapped up by the 

silence, needed.

That the silence was the only source 

for solace. 

That the people only hinder.

The stealers of your joy,

the stealers of your peace,

with nothing in exchange to offer.

Your aim for connection has already

dissolved. It seems you're unfit for it

anyways.

They all are dug in themselves, your

chances - limited.

Your only fount of understanding,

the place you only feel at home, welcomed

- those, who all are dead.