No more

it's all just a droneful abandoned plea

of me

to me

for me

by me

to not be alone

anymore.

To have 

one

but 

none

I suppose?

Or does it trace

my mind

overloaded with dying caffeine charge

formulating for the following day's

monotonous lull

a random guy playing a mini guitar sparks

my wishing and longing

once

again

for a friend

a cheesey wanting for someone to curl up on a couch with

but too young am I

and a cliche is never as satisfying as it is in theory

afraid

I can't be what anyone wants

Inexperience

is a downfall

of unwilling innocence

but uncomfortablility is not all that appealing on the same note.

So why?

But I

am not even positive

of what

who

when

where 

why

how

if

or

not

silence is grace

and says so much more than words ever will.

So me sits

alone with the silence

and fuzz

of pointlessness

and bitter

angst.

Putrid.

Rank.

And damp is my soiled mind.

soaking with hazy confuision and indecisiveness.

What if...