Sat home alone,
I cannot focus,
On anything but the bloody ticking tock,
Of my painfully loud clock.
Relentlessly kept anchored in the present,
I fester,
As I am a prisoner,
A slave captured by time,
Unable to hence forth,
Or recline,
Just stuck,
And endlessly out of luck.
What are the chances?
What did I do?
I would repent if I knew.
All I want is to love,
And be loved,
Like everyone else around me,
They make it look so easy,
And I welcome it with open arms,
But there is no love for me.
I can no longer depend on hope,
Delude myself that we are all deserved,
Of love,
And may receive it.
I have been looking,
Loudly,
Openly,
Scouting,
Foraging,
Wishing,
And wanting,
But just keep on,
Getting rejected,
Left and abandoned,
Falling,
Longing,
And failing,
I am worn out,
And I am torn.
How else can I take this but personally,
Now thirty-three,
Believe me,
I have sailed into the great unknown,
Searching for a lover to call mine own,
But it seems that love is not part of my destiny,
It turns out that there isn’t enough love for everybody,
And two shall not always become one,
We don’t all get that special someone,
To hold up and lean upon.
I must sink,
And sink alone,
But for all my writing in ink,
That shall follow me as I drown,
Like a dog to a bone,
My only companion,
As in the same pattern,
I shall leave this life alone,
Just as I came into it,
On my own.

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