The art of being lonely, Something I've perfected after years of Screaming and pounding. The act of being Alone, the verb of it as it trickles down your face. I cry when I'm scared. I cry when I'm happy too. The word alone slips away from my cheeks, It falls out of my mouth. A new lover I have found in a bed that looks Like mine, but sideways when I can't pick my head up. I cry when I'm angry, And the lonely clears its throat. It pushes against The walls of my chest like a drum, like a beat pulsating Out of my sobs. A new taste on my tongue, still here, but if I lose my mind In my own lonely, will there ever be anyone Around to notice?