The Empty Chair

Loneliness isn´t poetry. It´s an ampaty chair no one moves, a cup of coffe that goes cold every morning because there´s one to pour a second for.

People say being alone is freedom. Bullshit.

Freedom is beautiful when you´ve got somewhere to come back to. Being alone too long feels more like a cell

with no guards, but bars all the same.

You walk down the street and everyone´s in a rush, all of them with someone, or with headphones, or talking to some damn phone.

I talk to the walls.

Tell them I woke up late today and that the world doesn´t need me. I don´t need it either, but it still stings.

Loneliness doesn´t kill in one shot, it wears you down. It´s a drop falling on the same spot until it drills a hole in your chest.

And there´s no pill for that. Just cheap beer, a poem or two and a bit of rage to keep going.