loneliness is a fair-weather friend. 
i'd give anything to stay more with myself. to dig my nails into my skin
to see if I can interpret the pulsing veins beneath, as if it is the
Braille of life. i'd give anything to empty cheap refills onto
yellowing pages, writing over
De Broglie's equation and Heinsburg's principal.

oh, the desecration done by
the language of the heart.

but maybe, we are less happier than
what they tell us we are.

loneliness is a fair-weather friend.
only if its counterpart was as
unfaithful as it was -- the dead organism that feed off cells still
seem intent on choking us dead.

oh, the irony: a lifeless being seeking life, leeching life, and leaving us lifeless.

maybe we're just happy.

a dead man can't read Braille
under his bruised skin. and i'm
happy that youth is inscribed
in me -- but it's not a barricade to
death. maybe a dampening device,
but it keeps me at peace.

it keeps me at peace that i
can still feel my presence in
this chaotic world.

maybe we are all happy. 
a little happy and a little pained,
but some are more pained than others.