lonely (staples 2.0)

[nebulax3]

 i would start pulling the staples off my fingers,

each one would dig deeper,

but i would try to pull away from their grip

i know my skin would resist

as if the grip were absolutely abysmal

loneliness scares me.

someone said it's an incredibly exhausting anguish.

i’ve heard it only happens to the elderly

i read something i identified with:

— ''loneliness is the tremendous anguish of the elderly. they feel like a piece of furniture left in a corner, because they aren't longer useful for anything.

like an abandoned guitar because its missing strings.

like the withered flower of a plant that’s drying up.

the elderly are not visited. no one even talks to them, as few people remember them''

i felt touched when i first read that part
those three paragraphs were amazing
i admired that person
who is no longer in this world
or maybe she is
i didn't see her a long time ago
but i kept this book
a book of poems she wrote
a book of poems i would read
a book of poems i will read
a book of poems i'm reading
a book of poems i did read
i filled the 29th page with hearts
since i just loved that poem
i never read a poem as good as hers
i never read poems, though
besides the ones i write
if i tell people i write poems, i would be glad if they do not ask what are they about
my poems are kind of weird, a mix of emotions angrily vomited on a sheet of paper
i'm not used to write them
i just type them following the steps this messy mind gives me 
or this piece of trash trying to be useful 
i wanted to hold my own funeral, but it would be disgracefully deformed
i grab back my pencil
the tip is sharp, like the feelings compressed unintelligible in my stomach
i keep filling the page with hearts
i fill each blank space i find
but then i stop
i realized i didn't finish reading the poem

— ''the elderly will only live if another lonely soul approaches them, takes their hand, and they walk together along the short path they have left''

it was slightly encouraging, it was weird
i didn't see it that way, i never did
then i realize that i could have a solution
me, or this broken thing i found cast aside the hallway of my house
i really want to be okay
i really want to be normal
i really want to be like the others
they seem so happy, i don't care if they are or not
because people never interested me
i just cared about myself
or at least i thought that 
but that's clearly a lie
i sometimes care too much about people
that much that i can't even look at myself without thinking of them

i finished pulling the staples off my fingers
i thought so much while doing it that i didn't feel anything
i pull away the bloody staples
i was thinking of throwing them aside
of pulling them away
of throwing them in the trash
but instead i just left them on my desk
or on a stranger's desk
admiring how the blood dries.