Loneliness is a brine,
Something that so thoroughly soaks into your person,
Like a rot, a stench that you can never quite get off.

And no matter how many hours of doomscrolling, of trying to keep your mind from thinking,
There is nothing quite so depressing
Than admitting to yourself that you are lonely.

It is not brandished in your face,
Not coloured in your clothes, and
Not smelt in your deodorant.

It is far worse, a pathetic realisation,
The cause of such desperation.
For it was so wretchedly true
When someone once said
Misery has no pomp nor glamour.

-Desdemona