Self Inflicted Harmony

maybe only i know what lonely is about.  and nobody normal can figure it out.  because being alone isn’t merely enough, to feel truly alone the mind must become, a place where nothing real matters and nothing gets done, and the guests that arrive aren’t sure why they’ve come.  and nobody cares about anything else, but their money and image and plans and themselves.  and this thought makes me sad and this thought overtakes and i realize that i don’t ever have place.  and i try and i struggle but never succeed or receive the love or support that i need.  and things that once mattered slip out of my reach and even colors now look so pathetically bleak.  and my pain is so bad that i want to forget, maybe ill have better luck in the life after death.  i convince myself this is how ill find peace, sometimes even heroes admit to defeat. so i stand in the mirror with pills in my hand, and i think about how no one else understands, how hard a lonely life is to live. and how i have nothing left of myself i can give. so that is my tragic beginning and end at least now i wont ever have to pretend.  The fakers can smile as much as they want and i hope they don’t miss me after i’m gone.