Every so often you get the urge to blur out your friends and family,
To blur out those who claimed to love and care about you.

The term “I’ll always be there” is a deceiving lie,
The only lie you unconsciously attempt believing when you’re sinking in a vortex of pure loneliness.

Is it sincere?
Or just a form of temporary vague comforting?
I say,
You pick yourself up and shake off your own dirt;
Because ninety-nine percent of your living days,
Tears will be staining your shirt.
And loneliness will knock on your door once, twice or many more,
Maybe break through your windows from the second floor.

Tell me now,
Who cares about you at all?