I sit alone in my room,
feeling slightly drunk all the time,
though I'm not.
It would worry me less if I was.
I watch the lives of others,
revel in their happiness,
their sorrow.
I'm much too involved in the lives of others,
not involved enough in my own.
I'm slowly letting go.
I barely have a life,
of my own anymore.
I laugh at pointless inside jokes,
shared with no one,
inspired by nothing at all.
Alone,
when surrounded by friends.
Unloved,
by numerous past lovers.
I have enough love within me,
to make up for everyone of them that didn't love me back.
Like carrying a disease,
misery loves company,
but guilt would take me over,
at even the thought of risking the infection of others.
A disease of loving too much,
things that are of no importance,
to anyone but me.
A disease of loving too little,
things that would really help me.
Hiding in my jacket,
closing out the cold of lonliness.
Hidden within,
keeping me warm,
all the love,
I can no longer bring myself to share.