Lonely Poem by Cherry Blossom

He was already insane even without the long intervals of horrible sanity.
He did things that he would soon later regret and things he didn't do and would also regret.
In his troubling times, there was no one to accompany him, even in small dosages, yet he found loneliness as the safest place and stayed there for a prolonged period of time.
People noticed his strange behavior, they told him to talk and said that they would listen, but when every time his mouth opened to speak of his teething troubles they would walk away slowly and leave him.
He thought to himself "I guess I really am meant to be alone in this world."
His life was brutal, he spent a long amount of time where his fingers tapped the dirty surface of lifeless screens where he could live a fake life, yet he ached to bridge the chasm into another pulse of a human being, yet he stayed there sitting and frozen in time.
In his fake life, he learned how to write so that in a world full of "listeners" someone can listen to him.
He felt his emotions reach into his works, reach into other people one way or another.
He finally found "life", despite the insomnia, headaches, and worries, perhaps he was in a better state than ever before.
He wrote love into pen and paper, he wrote about the imagination of meeting death and breathing life into it on a piece of broadsheet, and he wrote about his heartaches, yet he found it difficult to describe his life in significant words.
But he thought to himself that if he breathed his life into a paper it would be full of loneliness, moments where he watched his life fall apart and all he can do is stare at it blankly.
Or it could be that if his life was written in ink it would be something disturbing, like recalling many warm memories yet feeling utterly cold.
"What's meant to be will be."
"No."
If it keeps you up at night, making you incapable to sleep, and your chest tightens, leaving you breathless, your thoughts rampaging with the desire of longing, and each and every waking moment pursue what you desire with purpose and fury and aspiration - you simply cannot wait on destiny, its presence must be demanded.
And so he bled through his words, chipping away at himself without noticing.
This world destroyed him.