Party of One


If I could put my screams
on paper,
no one could read it.
Eyes would water,
ears would bleed,
the noise would be deafening.

I try to open up
and I'm greeted with silence.
Broken sentences
awkward glances,
all casual reminders,
that in my world
it's just me,
one in the population.

Me,
myself,
I,
that type of relation.
And it's frustrating,
tiring,
when you can't shake the depression.
So you suffer in silence,
try to use your discretion.

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