Isolophobia,
Isolated as my main -phobia,
Is heating up with an incendiary rush.

I gather all my plush
And talk about the lush
Who doesn't really live next door,
But I'd rather they not be bored
With my lack of dialogue.

I distract myself;
I clean the kitchen, I fix the shelf
That's been crooked for weeks,
I notice that my life has peaked
And I gather all my plush again.

Every story has an end,
And as I approach it, I choke.
I speak of how I'm completely broke,
And it's when they ask me, "Why?"
Do I realize that I have no control
And it's my lack thereof
That is driving me insane.

I bury myself inside my head,
Forever being alone instead
Of losing the ones I love again.
Every story has an end,
And as I approach it, I choke.