There are days, inspite of my being who I am, where there is no denying that I am alone.
The happy songs, the sodden smiles, the carefree banter with myself, writing, books, cartoons, nothing works.

I can't accept these days, they need to be phased out, ticked out of time and breathed out of my being, for if I accept them the bow shall break and the cradle fall.
A thin precipice, on some lost mountain, where I have so causally balanced myself, smile and joke in hand, shall shatter and I shall be just another goth morbid flake...who life struck out at the pier.

But those days still come, unabated by my warnings... I am 'one' lost soul swimming in a fish bowl, and today 'one' really is the loneliest number of all.