I am lonely, as I so often seem to be
My mind flips over and under endlessly.
I think myself to heights then fling my body down
I scream and complain without my mouth making a sound.

Pridefully -endlessly prideful, as I am- I keep to myself
Because loneliness will never drive me to beg for another's help.
I'd rather stare outwards infinitely, fingers perched and ready to type
And wonder what part of the internet used to bring entertainment to life.

Self-sufficient in the way I always claimed to be, I whisper lonely into my hands
Then run for the door like it's a bug I must release, watching nervously at where it lands.
I dance with myself, giggle and smile, then peel of my face to observe
Because it isn't allowed to show what I can only disclose within written words.

An army of people who will never exist muddle through life inside my head
We speak and we smile and I am pitiful enough that it makes the emptiness less.
And less is livable, less is doable with stiff posture, a smile, and laughs
Less is easier, more simple, more viable to tote away than Too Much's trash.

If I straighten my back, smile with teeth, and laugh boisterously
If I open my arms and wait for company, who will I meet?
If I looked at every person as a new opportunity and not a danger to me
I wonder if I'd make enough friends to calm this feeling for a century?

Questions contain a vulnerability that has never once failed to disgust me.
Yet and still, I write them down because questions are the door to possibility.
And somehow, whether answered or unanswered these questions may be
I will walk away from the result into a crowd of people I will not greet.

I will be lonely.