i oversaturate everything i love
till they feel like empty husks
of people who used to mean something to me.
the more time i spend
keeping them close at bay,
the more i find myself
worrying that they will tire of me.

the sparks will fizzle out,
the glamour of the mystery
will wear and tear
as the curtain falls to reveal
the only ugly and all too real
parts of myself i have left.
where am i going
when i am growing alone?

must i always run away
to feel like i am worthy-
like i am interesting-
like i am more than the
shiny stories i tell of myself?

if i continue to be this way
will i always find
the path of life
too narrow to allow
for another to walk alongside me?

where will i find myself
if all i am doing is running?
there are times when
i feel as if home is the only place
i ever want to be
but it is also the prison in which
i always feel lesser of myself.

lonely are the hearts that believe
they need to escape
to find themselves
only to come back and realize
they are stuck
with every one of their million faces.