You who goes by "Lonely"
Yes you, who reads these rhymes
Please pause here for a moment
I won't take much of your time

You see my friend, I'm lonely too
In the dark with paper and pen
So I'm writing you this poem
and signing it "Your Friend"

Though I'll prob'ly never see you
nor ever know your name
I do not need to see your face
nor know your cash and fame

I do not care what color you are
how short or tall or fat
I'm weary of all these parties and creeds
So, for a moment, forget all of that

Yes you, dear friend, forget with me
Inhale this moment serene
where we are not opinions or castes
Just two humans with two glowing screens

Be human with me, simple and pure
For a moment breathe deep and feel free
then should you have the time, and a halfway good rhyme
Perhaps write a poem for me.

Signed,
Your Friend

I want to bury my soul in your loneliness to spring a beautiful dandelion of your happiness.

I have suicidal depression--
                                        and no,  I don't want to tell you about it.

I'd rather hide it from you (if I could)
And bury it the way you might do with someone you once loved

Maybe sharing their pain if only just for the moment...

I don't want you to sympathize with me either. It's not that kind of sad I'm afraid..

I need this to hurt me, because if it doesn't I won't learn that it isn't okay to feel this way.

A long and outlasting life will be my punishment for this.  I will die in valour and bury this axe where cessation lies dormant

Never to be shared with you

My sickness fully contained.  I will vanquish this demon inside myself.

I will starve before it feeds. I solemnly swear this exorcism on your behalf.

You will never know

My pain.

Sell your life for their coins, their papers and their lies    
   
Tell yourself the week is nearly over when climb into bed and die    
   
Sell your soul for a cheque    
   
Your hard earned life    
   
An hour for a couple bucks...    
   
Seems fair right?    
   
Building a pyramid we will never live long enough to rest in    
   
Breaking your back as the working class hero...    
   
This ball and chain keeping me captive to this horror show that only plays repeats of your favorite B-movies    
   
Always ready to be replaced by the next worst season of "Friends"    
   
I am trapped    
   
Bound by that which I am forced to see and taste and touch    
   
Compelled by this meaningless reality to go on existing under the confines of a life built on our forefathers' lives    
   
Selling ourselves to "the man" like blind, impotent and ******* ******    
   
A slave for hire