The night is almost quiet. Crickets I don't mind, but the cars, they don't belong. The night is alive, but life feels like it's being drained by a monster of tar that swallowed the city. I feel alone in this hell hole even though others are ****** to be here, just like me. Their presence is futile, I'm as alone with them as I am without everyone.
Were you ever real? What if life is just a dream and waking up is just this solitary we're confined to sleep in like rats in cages? A sardine in a can packed with sardines is feeling lonesome. Who gives a ****?
Am I even real?
The ticking of the clock makes me smile thinking this all will go away. Wishful thinking. I'm lonely, not stupid.
The sirens are deafening. The words are soggy like someone spilled cheap alcohol on them. The thoughts are cloudy.
The seconds die, one after the other and I'm still alive. Being alive hurts. Tonight I feel alive.