Loner Party

I am lonely. 

I did not choose to be lonely but rather longing lethargic loveless nights laid me to rest and tucked me in under a sheet of sweet savored salt filled tears. 

Tears that strangle me as I try to hold them back as I look at my retainted reflection. Trying to pretend that I am not acting in the pitiful persons play. Convincing my dampered dark dried out soul that I am not lonely. That I only need myself, that I can do this alone.

I can do this. 

I am lonely. 

I do not know the own people coexisting in the heated heavy house I reside in. Existing rather than living due to the drawn out dread and despair that is buried in the grave of my soul. Leaving a lifeless shell of a body that can only exist. I am often alone at my own house party. Left with only my bombastic booming blameful thoughts to sit in company with me around my living room coffee table or red countered bar. 

I can do this.

I am lonely. 

I feel like a liar laying lowley like a coward when I say that the longing want to be better is nonexistent because I have become so disconnected from my own head that feeling lonely is the only feeling I know. 

The only feeling that I can hold close to my heart as some days it is the only feeling I have. 

I would rather feel lonely than the cold cumbersome cursed numbness that hides in my fingertips and spreads through my heart. Lonely at least invites its friends depression and insomnia to the party so that I have company and feel connected to society when in reality I am stuck in a lucid dream. Even surrounded by bodies and thoughts I feel alone. 

I can’t do this.