Men,
the loneliest group of species in the universe,
and so Bell invented the telephone,
lonely voices,
flowing through the receiver,
a party is,
the carnival of a group of lonely people,
loneliness exhaled from their mouths,
into the air,
if the air could speak,
it’d say “hey,
my name is loneliness,
so nice to meet you”,
in the broken sky,
lonely kiteline won’t let go of,
the wing,
won’t let it,
seek some comfort,
standing on the top of the world,
overlooking a frigid world,
afraid of being forgotten,
wanting to send everyone a postcard,
time has carved loneliness ,
on the tunnel of life,
loneliness follows the partiers home,
and hides in wardrobes,
and becomes their coats,
and masks.
