I’ve never actually been with another.

I have a close friend.

But I yearn for intimacy with a female.

Within extended pauses.

This lingering feeling.

Rises from its hole.

And finds me up through the undertow.

Bewildering me with a chasm of alienation.

And shrouding me in its dismal light.

I let myself foolishly steep in it.

Until I am saturated with my own self pity.

As pity rots away it turns to anger.

And I decay into a more disgusting person.

One who self loathes. The root of my problem.

How can one love if they don’t love themself.