Loneliness is a festering boil.

Say the fullness of my bones,
can be whittled and honed.
Can be carved and crushed.
If I displease you and such.
For the sake of simplicity,

I do complain,
But, my faults are all gained,
From the culture at hand.
A culture of such grand, grand
contradiction.

And to you, I will tend,
To avoid the pits of oblivion!
To avoid that path,
where few of us can laugh,
At the pain.

At loneliness.