Always On the Outside

Because there's no place for me within.
Stalking rooms with empty noises spewing,
Spouting nothing to be consumed by a void.
I'm not one with whom you should toy.
Something not right, holding on too loose,
And every other word grinds past my vision
Except I missed nothing of the nothing you said.
I a m s i c k
And it's about time I admitted it,
Except this sickness draws certain others near
And then I'm not the only one here,
So is it so wrong to be something else?
I have to stalk these rooms at night, shaded red,
Shaded black, whispering under the screaming vortex
Of the known.
I should just have stayed home
Except this sickness compels me to flee from the silence
And then there I am, letting someone in again,
Hoping that for maybe just a little while
I don't have to be so lonely.
But it doesn't work that way.
Because afterwards, after the possession and depression and
Elation,
After they've gotten what they wanted,
I'm still alone