Lonely
Lonely isn’t a person,
Who can I blame?
Lonely isn’t a thing,
What can I blame?
Maybe lonely is its own category,
Thrown into the story of my life.
Written in red ink,
Cutting through the black pages.
Maybe even ripping the pages.
And every tear I shed
The paper rips again.
I flip to a new page,
Hoping it might be white.
But it’s not.
And life goes on.
And the paper rips again.
