don't tell her a thing.

i'd like to think of loneliness as my friend,
but she just doesn't want to seem to get along.

her presence, omniscient
even as a child, she would linger for a moment too long.

like a hard-wearing sibling,
this troubled and turning love-hate relationship, a circle

of arguments, paranoia and peaceful silences,
a constant companion, never by choice. well.

she doesn't like to be talked about seriously, yet,
preferring to be oblivious to the pain she causes.

clinging to me, i certainly do not cling to her
she's needy. my encouragement to change.

her melancholy touch, agony in the dark of night,
but purely lethal amongst friends. family. familiar souls.

only within a stranger's gaze is she comfort,
or the shafts of light between abandoned leaves.

all seriousness aside, fate is not far behind small thoughts,
fear of a lifetime in her relentless company.

she's tugging me away, the recent attention she's craving
a simple price to pay for the pain, shortly forgotten.

she's claiming my life for her own.
draining me. but don't tell her i said that.