Loneliness.
To be, or not to be, that is the question.
Is it a choice, or do we suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous misfortune.
We take arms against a sea of troubles, but it don\'t end there.
To die, to sleep, perchance to dream.
Aint no rub, for in that sleep only nightmares around the corner.
Only when we have shuffled off this mortal coil will freedom awake.
No time to pause for those who would bear the whips and scorn of time.
To grunt and sweat under a weary life, we feel those whips, we bear the scars.
But that the dread of something after death.
A sweet release from that we know.
How to fly from this loneliness?
That is the question.