i cannot do.
make do i cannot.
to understand what makes only my surroundings happy.
what wrong keeps returning inside of me to leave me out?
envy those lucky and careless, i do, for i cannot
do no more than merely wish for a smile to spread,
not the numbness weighing down my chest, flooding the gateways of my veins with its poison like wet black paint.
i do not want to make this all i know;
its familiarity scares me.
what am i missing out on?
when sad longing eyes scan from the corner
over the strangers i do irritate myself seeing,
the fault in isolating myself is clear.
finding too many flaws and reasons to
throw away the key of eternal joy.
why do i do this to myself, thinking about
how upsetting it is that i find it sad how
i am not alive only in dreams.
my mind begs me to stop all this from happening.
it needs a get out jail card, but unfortunately these types
do not come for free.
because i cannot always feel what others feel.
i am cast out from having too much fun,
and jealousy accomplishes so little.
but indulge in too much pity i refuse.
the universe doesn't care about anyone
it does not keep promises for anyone.
believing in its reliability to keep you feeling
wanted, and with purpose and worth
is not worth it.
it does not stop for anyone
especially not to make sure i am feeling okay
on this gloomy monday morning.
i would rather be anywhere else.