Wrapped up in blankets made of thorns
Placations to fend off scathing scorn.
Worry not, my friend, about connections;
We’re still here despite your deflections.
You can hide in the desert of your isolation,
Meanding through ruins and desolation.
A consolation of a kind, a reminder in the night,
Flee into your mind, but find a way back to the light,
Back to me.