There's such a strangeness about meaning, knowing
it may be of no significance to others
but is the world to you.
Can anyone else feel this, can one communicate, what's
stopping me from feeling you?
Am I locked-out of your experience, or locked-into mine?
The soul-ache to escape, serotonin pangs.

Longing for connection, the body wanes and the town's fallen.
Hopes and dreams, aspirations,
Wonder without reason. I sit here,
Looking over the river, upon the university campus
where I spent many days studying, and a commercial boatclub
where I spent many nights raving. I sit on this rock
where I read The Tempest and write for myself
and listen to compositions of my own hand.
I think how selfish I am, experiencing
A World Alone (- Lorde). I am
sorry not sorry. I swear
I haven't forgotten
what it means
to be human.