Living to the Death

This really isn't a poem, but more of a scribble of my thoughts. At the time, I was not myself. I still feel like this at time, more frequently at nights.

I can't connect to anyone, except the people I've known all my life. Even those people don't understand me. I feel this need to be comforted by someone, but there's no one. I laugh, I smile, but at the end of the day, I'm still just stuck with my thoughts. They hurt. I guess I just want to find someone to share my mind with, and feel the comfort of their arms. I crave human contact, but in a more special way. The thought of telepathy thrills me. To connect to someone on that level would be wonderful. Living itself just get so weary. Is a hug, or simply a night in someones arms without the pressure of sex, too much to ask? I can't just come out and say it, it makes me feel weak and bothersome to others. I think of fantasies where that happens. It's an escape from reality. One blissful fantasy, where I'm surrounded by warmth and love. I don't know if other people feel this way, but if they do, then I wish I could find them. We could share the pains of living together.

Author's Note

I am not asking for people to suddenly start messaging me with questions about whether I'm suicidal or if I need to talk to someone. I merely put this up here because it was a very emotional piece for me to write. It's a piece that completely encompasses how I felt at that moment in time. Thankfully, I've gotten over my loneliness, and I simply don't care anymore. I got fed up with waiting for someone to reach a life line out, and I cut my emotions off. I've made myself into a robot that the people around me seem to want.