Empty rooms and empty chairs,
No one present here nor there.
Week by week I stand alone,
And when it ends is still unknown.

I fill the emptiness with puzzles and games,
And try my hardest to not blame.
But every single time I've tried,
I feel a darkness grow inside.

I loathe for this, I loathe for that,
I loathe myself for being fat.
I loathe my feeling so many things
That aren't grounded realities.

Things like thinking I no longer look nice,
All because he's stopped telling me every night.
And things like he just doesnt love me as much,
That he'd rather be far away and such.

A part of me knows that these things aren't true,
And that thinking they are is a certain miscue.
But it's hard to look up when I'm all by myself,
So I hide all my worries on a deep mental shelf.

And there on my shelf shall all my fears stay,
As I make myself live each and every day.
I put on a smile and don't let anyone know,
That deep down inside, I truly feel low.