I do not yearn for love.
Not romance, nor friendship.
I struggle in this passive isolation
yet I do not seem to yearn.

I am empty in that context.
Never feeling full, nor have I ever before.
I claw and cut and scream for simple peace
yet I seem to be punished with restlessness.

Maybe the peace is found within
regaining a sense of yearning.
Maybe the peace is only found within
the final ‘death’ do us part.

they are all asleep
and I sneak under cover
of the lateness of the hour
to the comfort of my words
scrawled across a page in ink
from the nib of a fountain pen
they search for a target
I'll never achieve
on a journey through my head
reaching for perfection
I am tired by a world
always demanding more
than I'm prepared to give
always asking for more
than I could possibly have
but this moment is at least mine
stolen from the clock of life