I’ve felt enough loneliness in my life
To fill eight adult men.
And the pain never stops.
All the relievers I use refuse to last.
You can call me crazy
Cause I’m definitely different
If I love being alone with my hatred
And then refuse to sleep
So that I don’t miss a single thought
That goes through my tiny roaring head.
But everything comes to an end.
Sadly so does solitude.
I actually love company.
I’d like to be thought about too,
By more than one person.
I love people that understand me.
Comfort ability is a huge priority
For my personal well being.
Because I’ve got the soul of a writer:
Fantasies about typewriters
Sitting inside of snowed in hotels
And a cup of coffee in my hand.
Physically I’m covered with flaws,
And stuck in this five star dump,
While billionaires judge each other
Based on Instagram popularity.
Artists like me are in a different category.
Not uncool but too complex to read.
Not easy enough to put a finger on.
Too skinny. Too unapproachable.
Too dark. Too intimidating.
Consequently tucked away.
Introverted and tempted to destroy
Whatever the fuck that I can.