I am alone.
I am the one and only.
Me and my enemy, myself.

I cast my heart out too easily, afraid I'll never find the missing half.
When in my heart I know that if I never accept my own love, how can I expect another to do the same.

Thinking alone is a dangerous game.

My mind loves to think of strategies, little ways to cope. My mind also loves to trick itself, whispering of hope.

Am I meant to stand as one? Alone with my shadow, who is forced to stay connected? Meant to follow my heart's compass, which is always misdirected?

You can only walk a path alone so many times till the beauty starts to seem fake. You can only sing the melody so many times until you think that the harmonies you imagined were just unreachable dreams.

Dreams that once they pop, come unraveled at the seams.

I crave for touch. I long for comfort. I wish for understanding.
I want to fly and touch the sun, and never think of landing.

For once, though, I know my problem. I don't let people in, and if I can't heal myself, the problems come again.

I become so obsessed with fashion, wearing a mask that from the exterior, doesn't look forced or odd, but if they saw me for who I am, they would be quick to call facade.

I put up barriers: confidence and wit, but soon realize that not even the highest walls could protect me from the raging inferno known as my inner thoughts.  

I obsess, I manipulate, and I belittle myself in to thinking I know best, I write symphonies in schedules so I don't have time to think or rest.

But time does come, where the mirror will rise, and you can see straight through your smile, and all the other lies.

Most do not notice, perhaps they just don't care, few can truly detect the dullness of my stare.

That is not their fault, for I'm a learned man, I learned my part too well, for most people see my heaven, while I myself hide the hell.

I'll compress my feelings to lock them up, to protect myself, and to protect others. For I fear if I show others who I am, I will truly be alone.

I don't let people see, for my emotions are my demise, I'd much rather have my friends who love me for a happy half, then let them see my self despise.

It is a viscous way to live, I know. My worst fears are my own thoughts, fabricated by me, prepared for the drastic, so I can handle them if they come, like a flood that I know will never happen, but yet I still build an ark.

Prepared to walk alone, before the conflict even starts.

Alone is not my name.
But alone is how I feel.
The more I think alone,
the more that reality becomes real.

I cast my heart out too quickly, praying for a bite,
but not a soul comes biting leaving another lonely night.

I am lonely, I am broken, as my poem has shown,
Until I learn to trust and let others in,
I will always be alone.