Tragicomedy

Is it sick to accept pain as a joke?

To feel like the greatest of devastation,

is seen as a personal trophy in your eyes?

Where every missed chance of love,

is another point in this ever-growing score?

Every second without love,

is another second of pain.

And every second of pain,

is another second of laughter.

Another joke to add onto this life.

It's all feeling like one big joke.

One big facade where I can't have a single shot

at just having some decent company for a while.

I don't want to keep love.

I just want to feel it.

Know what it's like.

The only kind I've ever had,

is the one I was born into.

I am supposed to be loved.

But outside, do others want to give me love?

Are they hidden underneath the quiet

they've buried themselves under?

Or do they truly see me as a man

who is made out of the scraps of men?

I will leave this bubble I was born in,

and then where will the love be?

Where would be my tender care

as I walk across my floors?

Either way, as I laugh,

it is all a moot point to me.

I've gotten so far, living alone by myself.

What's wrong with another lifetime of the same?