The lonely girl has nothing to offer
save for, her tears
she keeps bottled
within her heart
(self-pity fermenting empathy later)
Naming each shade
of blue a different hurt
(shots increase vulnerability)
A recluse, knowing everything and nothing
about the world she lives in
(drunk on experience’s teachings)
Deciding she is both happy alone
while still wanting friends
(hungover on knowing what she wants)
Sometimes her laughter reminds her
of bittersweet
(sober enough to wonder if she’s a fun time, but not a good time)
Keeping to herself is easy
because the cost of liquid courage
seems too high