though they do not realize it,
carry out there lives in solitude.
Others will surround them,
and engulf them in friendship and kindness,
if they're lucky,
but still they are no more then loneliness,
passing time with distractions.
Most do not even realize that they are so deathly alone.
After all what about all of those people,
who tell them that they're there whenever needed?
But do they really matter?
When things really do crash down,
with bruising force upon your head,
and the pressure starts to squash you flat,
and you can even breathe without filling your lungs,
with the poisonous flood that accompanies the wreckage
. . . .where are they?