I've become so terribly comfortable
being alone
that I have perfected and gotten bored
with the art of *******
and the painful truth seeps out
in the silent hours
of self indulgent gratification
and self loathing
and somewhere in the pathetic ramblings
of my lonely heart I paint pictures
of perfect beauty in the colors
of eyes that don't exist
and stars that never glowed
in dreams of soft skin and lips
I was never brave enough to speak to
much less kiss
in the hours where I am
so terribly comfortable
being alone