Alonely

Oh what joyous wordplay this title is.
But what truth it holds: I am feeling immensely alone.

She was sure it would not be midnight.
He may just have come over.
Only 30 people waiting for her before me.
Why isn't he answering anybody, probably?

They are fast asleep (and may annoy me if not)
He is more for her.
I am looking for it, calling it home, like prize pigeons, or skinny dogs by starved vagabonds.
She is sick and he another victim.

Its weight is pinning me to this chair, my mind racing, set free by only little alcohol.

I feel like a fish in a bowl. With the ability to remember. And only plants and bubbles around.

My ache, my urge, my drive for darkness is fed by all and everything.
Abandoning is my ugliest friend.

I am the opposite of buddha.
I am the centre of my world.
All else fails.

Perhaps the book is to blame.

Help wanted.