Every man an island

No man is not an island
wandering in its own version of ocean
lost in waves, pushed by salty tears
Every touch
is external
but inside each wanders in the morass
of black, gold and rainbow thoughts
alone
all are alone.
From a view, behind the eyes
there is only what is hidden in the skull in the self
and no way to penetrate that
which is inside
We can touch skin
but the fight to feel
is lost
because
if you feel the brain
the fingers flowing through the mush
well ...
there is not much thought left in it.