Open door. Blue sky. Cloudless day. Green grass. Mailbox with the flag down. No mail today. I went away just to come back again. Spinning Earth and a feeling of being alone.

Time drops like a mic. Sick of days alone. Remember when I played with your dick? I miss the feel of you. Now I’m alone afraid of being this way until the end.

I don’t pretend to be better. I’m not the best but I’m just trying to be myself when the rest of you copy someone you’ve never met.

Alone. Single. Touch myself to remember how it felt to touch someone else.

The end of words but is there ever truly an end to these words?

Categories: writing

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