after so many
it wasn’t mes
i came to realize
it was me seeking
things of which
i had no purpose
trying to find
the evidence showed
it wasn’t meant for me

i have always been alone
except for the sparrows
and the constant anxieties
which fill the room
with chaotic buzzing
and discordant trills
i was taught good children
are seen and not heard
or they are sure to be hurt
and that hurt goes unheard

slowly disassembled by
the rigors of living
driven mad by these fits
of unbearable loneliness
when my sinuses are swollen
and there is no comfort
in the sparrows singing
just long stretches where
the agony outweighs any
fleeting hint of dream