The Misery of Solitude

I am entirely alone in this barren world, unmolested save for those miserable occasions wherein I must go forth and pretend—my very soul crumbling behind my façade of calm—to be like the worthless denizens of what we call society. A glimpse of affection, the touch of a tender hand, might be enough to staunch my lifeblood's flow, but it is not to be; everything I love in the world has left me, and I wither in my solitude.