All this poetry I write
is here for a reason.

I am feeling rather nostalgic tonight
my room is clammy and hot
whilst on the inside, I'm in a freezer
unable to move from the isolation

I am currently listening to a song
it is singing me to sleep
and singing all my consciences
without me having to think too much
philosophising everything

I'm tired of being here
alone all the time, and
I can't carry on being second best
even third, fourth and so on
like a never ending cycle

the term 'wallflower' is so perfectly beautified
and evokes imagery of aesthetically-pleasing nature
but I find this so hard to believe
as I feel like a wallflower
but certainly the opposite of beautiful
more like the uninviting sight of a prickly ****
needing to be dug up
because nobody likes its presence

irrelevance is probably the only term I can use to describe
just how things are
no one wants the companionship of someone
who perceives others' opinions as negative
all the time
and their own thoughts are just as diabolic

the thought of myself
ever being denoted as beautiful
is at the height of impossibility