• miss_lyra 33w

    Death of the Party

    All these people,

    many I don't know.

    The ability to zone

    conversations out

    soothes my secret soul.

    I stand near the edges,

    not functionally making words flow,

    avoiding eye contact

    and shying interaction.

    Snacks cover the counters,

    I don't eat.

    Too much glutinous carbs,

    but I hear my stomach growl with anticipation

    Small talk is pitiful,

    and opinions take offence.

    To not participate

    is my last defense.

    Can't trust to take a drink.

    If I go out to dance,

    A drug being sinked,

    There's always a chance.

    It's awfully quiet

    being reclusive,

    solitude can be cold.

    Cold as the winter night

    outside this window beside me.