Never could small talk
Clumsy awkward and disheveled
Fitted in by fitting out

This is no perfect other for me I'm convinced
I'm to old
Broke
Tired
Weird and can't carry a thought to fruition


All of my life I have been looking
Hoping to find a lover
She must have not been born

Scary thought dying without next of kin
Then again there will be no sorry and pain
No grieving
Which is good