Truly alone?
I think if I was, from this point on,
I don't know.
There is so much that one does,
For the esteem of others,
And with the of help others, too,
Things otherwise not bothered,
Like records and attempts to break them.
In solitude, one's broken with every move,
And only celebrated if it's acknowledged,
That it's a record you may one day lose.
And it's alright,
All this talk of being alone is a lie,
First, because I must surely be talking to someone,
And, also, being with someone doesn't mean they're nearby.
No comments:
Post a Comment