living alone wouldn't fix my loneliness i suppose. but i think i would be better because i could be able to share it. with myself. have some true, naked-soul, silent moment with myself. maybe i'd come to terms with silence and affront my fears of being deaf. i'd have plants and a balcony and candles. i'd smoke in the living room next to a standing fan. i'd watch reruns of my favorite movies. i'd write poetry for all the people i'll never date. i'd watch topology lectures at midnight and take down notes. i'd pin pictures to the walls and write mirrors. i guess it wouldn't fix my loneliness, but it would sure look envying.
in contrast
i think i wanted to say
to admit maybe
that the beginning of this year
and the ending of it
were the same.
they weren't.
at all.
i don't remember anything before july.
i feel as if those warm months were lost
drowned in alcohol
but they weren't-
i just
erased the good memories.
i guess i remember my scarred skin.
my long hair and my broken nails.
my lean, clean feet.
my bruised legs.
now i only know
scarred hands and feet.
good skin, short hair
pale as a sheet.
there's an exhaustion buried deep within me.
bigger than the anger.
bigger than the hate.
oh how times have changed.
i feel like there's
hope?
but i'm still,
i'm still
so alone