I long for
The Winter Solstice-
Where around here,
There's eighteen hours
Of night.

Only to be ruined,
By morning's dawning
Light.

What you find-
Beautiful-
I find
Derivative
And easy.

No one did anything
Great,
Praising the sun-
And,
Beauty.

I only love things,
When your things,
Recede
Into my quiet moments,
Without you.

I am not
Agreeable.

I am not
Friendly.

I am a
*******
*****.

I never wonder
About other people
Any more.

It's all a fantasy,
A maladaptive coping mechanism,
And the you
I make in my head
Is more interesting,
Than who you are.

So,
I stopped,
Getting interested
In other humans
Because of a pretty
Face.

You're all so
Mundane,
So,
Basic.

Someone else-
Is always,
A,
Disappointment.

And,
I'd rather be
Alone,
Free,
With my time.

The venom
Of
Scorpion,
Pierces through
My flesh
And,
Stings.

I am compelled
To
Dance in a mad
Scramble,
As the poison.

Takes hold.

My ego is about
To die.

Tripping on some divine
Archetype,
Of change-
Transformation,
Tinged with the death
Of self.

I am enshrouded
In Eternal
Darkness
And
I never asked
For there to be
A light.

Perpetual
Night-
With nothing
But the
Enveloping
Dusk.