A sense of sickness washes

Over him as he sits alone;

Shunned by the world, he

Is all he will ever have.

 

His loneliness comes and goes,

Developing, maturing,

Feeding his unsatiable

Fear of abandonment.

 

People tell him he has been,

But he can never

Recall a time where

He was truly happy.

 

He looks to others

To try to mimic their

Smiles, to fit in,

To get the joke.

 

But the truth is

He is the joke,

A sad punchline, a

Sour sense of humor.

 

His inability to fit,

His incapable hands

That falter in their quests,

He will always be the worst kind of funny