Hell is a room full of people
staring
begging me to be wise.

They don’t know
I’m a fake, I’m a phony
recycling words from the past.

Not that they’d notice
lost within their frail ignorance,
byproducts of a sheltered life.

I’d prefer to remain silent.
Explaining myself is a waste,
save your questions for another time.

Excuse me, but I must leave.
Loneliness is my cure,
easing the murmurs of the crowd.

-H. Fields

Solitude

by hfields90

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