introspection
has long been
my escape
from
reality

as I sit here
gazing at the lips of flame
coming up from under
the wet log above them
I wonder why
I sit here
so alone
and
so
cold

I cannot seem to reach out

not in any good way
not in any bad way
only haphazardly
and impotently
like a snake
robbed of his
venom

I fear I cannot make a mark on this world

(if you want to control me,
abuse that fact)

I fear that I am not worthy to be remembered,
not worthy enough to even look at,
to talk with,
to be more than that ******
in the corner

even when I am the center of attention,
nobody wants to look.

I see the people across the flame
sleep comfortly
in the arms of those
they barely
know

the warmth they feel,
does not seep over to
me.

not even a smile,
not even a hello.

but I bring it on myself,
I know.

so I cannot complain.
I will not complain.

but I am still sad,
and this poem
is my only way
to get it out.

I feel the shivering of this night getting to me.
this cold world we live in haunts me, every day.

I am told
there is warmth
somewhere

and as I gaze upon
that somewhere
I have never felt more
far away from it