I am alone,
and I don’t know if I want to be.
I sit by myself,
reading
and thinking
what’s the point?

I am alone,
and I think about cliches.
Surrounded by people,
yet totally alone.
cliche.
but true.

I feel empty sometimes.
And the emptiness,
it burns in my heart.
I think maybe,
just maybe,
I’m thinking too much.

I’m not sure of anything,
but I want to be.
Self-esteem,
It’s overrated.
I second-guess my choices.
Why do I have to choose?

Maybe being alone is okay
Maybe it’s not.
But I feel alone,
so it doesn’t matter anyway.
I wish I could change it.
But I’ve learned wishes don’t make it so.

So I keep sitting,
keep reading,
keep thinking,
what’s the point?
I think I’ve found it.
I could be wrong.

I spend every day surviving,
fighting the world
and fighting myself,
while everyone else is just living.
They don’t know the point either,
and that’s the point.