some Insight

It's like sitting in your room late at night--

a comfortable, accepting, gentle place but there's no one there but you. Only you

sitting alone in the dark. It's not frightening, there aren't any nightmares; 

you're listening to one of your favorite songs, but you can't pay attention to it.

It's background noise and your headphones don't catch it in time

from the verge of

being swallowed by something way louder.

 

Silence.

 

You notice more of everything. It's 3AM and

you're wide awake, staring into the dark, pupils blown as wide as the ocean of

calm around you.

The darkness is allaying in a strange sort of way; lifeless and fuzzy, but

somehow warm. You can smile without it reaching your eyes.

But this time, there's no one there to be unable to realize it like usual.

So, unlike all the other times, in public, with friends, whatever--

 

The darkness knows.

And that?

That's the loneliness.

 

That's what being pessimistic is like. 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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