Alone

Alone is easy when you’re answering the call of Mother Nature.
And it's easy when you’re spending like you had some cash to spare.
And it's easy when you’re tickling those things one doesn’t mention ...
but not easy when you reach for them and find they are not there.

Alone, at night, I find I wonder how to greet each new tomorrow.
Alone, each day, I try to recollect just why the hell I care.
They say that happiness is meaningless until you’ve known sorrow.
Sorrow’s meaningless until you have some options to compare.

Send me doctors to collaborate about my grave affliction.
Send me preachers to excoriate how evil this way lies.
Send me journalists to celebrate the day of my damnation.
Send me flowers to commemorate the day of my demise.

Send me nothing to remind me that you know we’re only human.
Send me nothing to imply that you have problems of your own.
Better yet, why don’t you bother me with nothing to begin with?
After all, it’s so much easier to know that I’m alone.

 

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