Soliloquy of a Hopelessly Defeated Actual Woman

I seek that spot where the vindications of the relentlessly unreachable soul become eternal. I longingly and soundlessly seek liberation from my own vast and dejected mind that unforgivingly, day by day, continues to cavort with the face of a merciless and unwanted solitude. My time, my life has been arrested in a perpetual state of remote deolation that my Sanity simultaneously cherishes and rejects. Cherishing it for fear of a life outside myself. Rejecting it in fulminating fury having tasted of life outside myself. Sill, Solitude stays, a seemingly ubiquitous intimation of a hopelessly defeated soul, which is more and more like the aftertaste of champagne.