Category: Poetry

I am growing so sick of shipments.
Indictments were never for me,
They may be for you.

Whose in-transit to my location?
Which package do I choose?

All of them turn up broken
when opened.

I was not made to satisfy a singular being.
I was not made to have a partner.

I was made to be alone forever,
and use the pen & paper instead.

That's all I am.
That's all I'll ever be.