This loneliness is something we all know.

I've grown used to it's odd, yet particular warmth.


I have outgrown so much and so many have outgrown me.

The things I want are not the things I need.


What am I destined to be?  If anything at all.

Who's to catch me when I'm bound to fall? 

What is there to do when you've tried it all? 

Who am I to call when there's nothing left, 

But vacant halls and tarnished walls?


This poem is about: 


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