Postmodern solitude.

I am my almost lover!
Laying on my bed, hover,
About the best dress in my drawer.
“she is bit different”, they whisper.
My cat, besides me prurr.
The kettle, my alarm, the whistler.
It’s the same time of yesterday.
Work. Walk. Weep. Wear that face and stay.
I’m okay.
Limitless, boundless life sway.
The bills, don’t wonder, I pay.
Solitude embraces, but the happiness, and the quietness, I may!
Passion on the plates.
My flesh and bones, sweat and blood, the nerves, stimulate.
“I have become the man i want to marry”, I contemplate.
As they insult, I’m not late.
I nourish and isolate.
A narcissist, may be , i negotiate!

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