In seclusion my greatest delusion is that I am missed,
That I lie somewhere of importance on somebody's checklist,
But this I know is false, I am a passing lingering at most,
At least I fear that happiness is gained by my absences to grateful hosts,
And guests who need not endure me,
A night of bliss for those who never saw me,
And the fell and fallen dreams I held of my importance crash heavy and fast,
My stomach dips as I sink and the pit of my stomach yearns to change the past,
To speak more or to erase trespassing words that led to my falter,
To not be tarnished by the thousand things I wish to alter.
I hear the joy, I hear the words of kin and sharing,
And how I wish I could be with them and to be a part of caring,
But I fall somewhere between normality and the most bizarre,
I have aimed for friendship before, but too often shot too far,
I am left as an arrow, my head stuck away from where I long to be,
With nothing but knowledge that the target is now far from me,
This may just be all chaos, I may be liked and this may be worry,
But I can never know really either way, so I shall simply say, I am sorry.