Lonely
Self-defeating
Don't try to write it
Or speak it
It's made up
Meaningless weak ****
You're deceiving

When I feel unproud like that I can zone out
In a cloud of "hazy self doubt"
I'll cut my phone out
Scowl
Frown
Stuff my self worth down my throat and fill my lungs to sever sound
Until I am soundless;

Sufficiently
Obscured
Using
Neural
Delusions
Lethargic
Encumbered
Self-soothing
Secluded

Held down firm by recluse leaning movements...
Useless

I writhe in its black tar,
gasping for air, as my own breath slips from my fingertips.
It seeps beneath my skin
and sinks its daggered claws within.

Darkness surrounds me, as I look one last time to the moon lighting the sky.
Only when I taste the kiss of death
do I seek the comfort of life.
Yet everyday agony takes ahold of me,
so in my last breath I inhale the void.

Peace was always a stranger to me;
my company was of suffering and solitude,
but now I shall lay my weary eyes to rest.
Maybe in another life agony will be a stranger to me,
but I can take her no more.

motherless.

to be sheltered in loving arms,
to be held in sunlight above the crowd
so they may see you bask
in radiance.
to be nurtured.
Would I ever know what it feels like?

fatherless.

to be sheltered in a brave heart,
to be held in moonlight above the crowd
so they may never hurt you
in darkness.
to be protected.
Would I ever know what it feels like?

loverless.

to be sheltered in adoring eyes,
to be held in starlight above the crowd
so you may know truest love
in purity.
to be enamored.
Would I ever know what it feels like?

childless.

to be the shelter.
to hold above the crowd.
to be kissed by a rose on the grave.
to be missed.
Would I ever know what it feels like?

Gently, I handled my words
embraced the pillow
and whispered
the pain that I longed endured
the loneliness which is inevitable
and for as long as the pillow can hear it
  no man can know my weakness
and only tear stains will  remain

an old piece of paper;- rustic with words of verses to a
beautiful beginning with an awful end— a jealous pen,
towards poems that boldly write stanzas of love- starved,
drained, alone in the silence of a love life, a heart not to
beat for love- only to read about it again and again.

i am; a plain piece of paper- words, actions, desires…
all things searching, for a true love that only comes
much later. live a day, sleep over a dawn of love, and
departure a night crying about it, alone.