The Lonely Fist

A matter of loneliness and despair of one who has no one to help them out...

Why must I be alone

In this hellish world of pain?

No one seems to care

That I am starting to go insane.

I have no friends at all

That I can begin to speak of.

I am all alone,

With a single bloody glove...

My life is all for naught

No one seems to care at all.

There is no one around

To help me take the fall.

I only have one friend

A small black dove.

I am all alone,

With a single bloody glove...

Author's Note

(Note from Feb 2012): This is a very old poem from somewhere in the middle of my high school days. This was a quick write from one of my (many) brief times of teenage loneliness. After reading it again so many years later, I appreciate some of the symbolism here, mainly concerning the "small black dove" and the "single bloody glove" lines, which I am surprised at myself for writing in here so long ago. It isn't the best poem, but I appreciate any and all thoughts: critiques, suggestions, and analyses. Thanks :)