He says he’s going to make it,
no friends and all.
Who needs people to rob your trust?
He tells me so.
Abuse you with their evil deeds?
Best be alone.
And so, he lives all by himself.
Rises and sleeps,
enjoying his tranquility.
He writes and reads
to live… keep his sanity, sane.
Some perfect life.
No worries, no disappointments.
Yet, no laughter.
No one to share his dreams or joys,
no one to love.
Now, how can he call that living?
No life at all.