I've tried every drug I could get my hands on;
I've tried every hobby that interest me;
I've tried to play every instrument loud;
but, none could save me.

I've raised the base of every bottle,
but, that, not even that could save me.
I've drenched my body with countless glasses -
glasses full of hangovers, and that -
even that cannot save me.

I've tried everything, yet -
the feeling of loneliness is the loudest,
and nothing seems to save me from it.
It's weighing heavy on my chest, and I'm hoping;
hoping someone, something, anything -
saves me from this stagnant, empty feeling of worthlessness.

I told him often and
I couldn’t have made it clearer.
He needs to stop looking
At himself in funhouse mirrors.
His nose is too wide
His body is just too skinny.
Good looking body parts
He believes he hasn’t any.

He seldom smiles
Even when a comic falls down.
He doesn’t like comedy.
Not even good circus clowns.
He doesn’t read poetry
Unless it is written about him
And his taste in music
Is all based on a passing whim.

He’s thirty years old
But he acts like an adolescent,
Playing the same games
From childhood to the present.
He still dresses like he did
When he was ten years old
And doesn’t clean his room
Not ever, unless he is told.

He plays on the computer
And keeps dead-end employment,
Then gripes about his life
And his total lack of enjoyment.
His ambition level wrecked
Because his family still pays his bills
And lets him hide in his room
That’s the kind of situation that kills.

He has no ups or downs
And takes pills to keep his mood.
He buys toys and gadgets
And lives on his mother’s food.
But, nothing in life calls him
To achieve or excel or to win
In the halfhearted game of life
That he finds himself stuck in.

The soul smoothly started leaking,
Dropping slowly out of this tired body,
The grave ready to devour,
A heart rejected by life,
A body being kicked out of living.

Was it yet time to depart?
Days squandered carelessly,
Time on its wings gone,
Should words have spoken am dying?
Slowly leaving this body to aging.

God hasn't called me home yet,
Though there am longing to go,
Craving heaven,
Fearing death..

I don't know how to whine or cry about it.
It feels like misery.
Something I deserve, something I don't deserve.

I don't know;
Is it all the sins of being hopelessly romantic? -
That the one time I find myself the ideal mate,
I lose her; for my sins. I blame my sins.
My wasteful sins.

I've wasted many-a-hearts.
Unrequited.
Not interested.
Really.

There she was. I was standing in front of a mirror.
Alone. There she was.
In a dress, long hair, a smile, tantalizing lips;
my personality, my interests, my views; a recluse - we.

Yet, alone in front of this mirror, it was She I saw.
Not I.
Her. I saw her.
She was me. I was her. We were I.
At least in the sense - in my sense - we were I.
I saw myself in her. I saw us in her. I saw her in us.
It was confusing; Aren't opposites suppose to attract?
Yet, there I was, attracted to the female version of my own mirror image.
She was refreshing. I had been alone. I am alone.
There she was, an image of me. I want to be alone with her.
I wanted.

Thing is;
Love is a minor - always childish - always unrequited.
Everything I saw was everything that never presented itself to her.
I found myself caught in an deceitful delusion.
I conformed myself into a conforming.
She was the idea that was not an idea - but became THE idea.
I saw perfect in her. Perfect in everything that was not perfect.
I saw love in everything that was not loveable.
I saw time in everything that was not worth my time.
I saw us in everything that was not us. It was never us.
She - I, trapped in a delusion.

I saw everything I wanted, but love is a minor - childish.
Everything I want was for someone else to have.
She was for someone else to have. Someone else has her.

And I;
I am alone.
I have no 'her'.
No She.

Alone in a world full of lots of people
How can you be alone when there are so many people?
Walking and wandering
Hoping and wishing
The world passes me by without even flinching
Smile and laughter from every which way
But here in my room
I have nothing to say
I sit alone, I eat alone, I cry and laugh all by myself
I am my only friend
My only friend is myself

The life of solitude is often unfound,
While the joys of this life are often profound
The best company, most certainly is that of my own
Pitied often
And frowned by most
My existence is as transparent as many a ghost
I laugh and enjoy these moments alone
While thoughts of tranquility
Surround my own
I'm happy with me
What more can I be
The best company is one that's with me.