People, have become like ghosts
Unseen, and invisible
Drifting off into the ether
Unlikely to see, or speak to
Until i communicate to saddened strangers
Or see, at the end of next week
Where i'll exist briefly
In the company of artists
Perhaps
It's the looming
Fruit moon
Where i become
Moonishly,, and mawkishly,maudlin
Alone with my thoughts
As i'll never adjust to this being
A single  lonely singularity
no wonder it's called SAD

by Jemia