“I’m not the lonely one." I sit alone, looking out this weathered window of this empty apartment, to snow-covered streets below. “What a sight for sore eyes. What a sight…” This cold place I call my home, for now, nothing more than a concrete box with hallways and empty rooms I use to stack and store my thoughts. Kill the heat and the lights stay off. Closed doors remain locked. I just sit in my bedroom alone waiting for anyone to knock. “HOLD A TRUE FRIEND WITH BOTH YOUR HANDS” carved into the grain of my guitar, and the only hands I’ll ever hold are in the pictures I draw. These sad songs I sing are not a cry for help. I see you’ve noticed all my worries placed upon this shelf, and though they’re on display, they won’t ever be touched. I’ll sit and watch these bills of life pile up unpaid, the many friends who’ve left, and the few who’ve stayed – all these things, they take their place along that shelf to collect dust. I’ll manifest happiness for you all to see, but cigarette smoke-stained walls haven’t come clean since I sung my heart out to watch it die on the floor. Feels like I’ve lived a lifetime within a single day, waking up the next day feeling less okay than I did the day before...a self-proclaimed “old man” at age 24. I’ll bet you see right through me. I have placed my faith in doubt so I pray To Whom It May Concern that no one finds me until I find myself.
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