The woolen cloth wraps around my body as if I am still in my mother’s womb.
The damp grass and dirt begins to soak through the soft, white cloth as I lay my body down.
The sound of the wind blowing through the dying leaves brings me comfort.
I am not the only thing dying.
The cloth smothers me from head to toe as it attaches itself to my body.
I am alone.
I am meant to be alone.
No one will understand,
And care about me,
The way I understand,
And care about myself.
The woolen cloth,
The dying leaves,
The soaked dirt of the Earth
Joins me in my journey of isolation and solitude.
My eternal devotion to isolation and solitude.