Loneliness is not being alone in an empty room.
It's being surrounded by people,
but not by friends.
Fear is not the apprehension before the jump, But the loss of control as you fall,
Not knowing how hard you will hit rock bottom.
Anger is not a spontaneous act of hate,
just a sadness or a heavy grief
that has festered in your heart for far too long.
Envy is not when you've found something better,
But it's when you've found within yourself something ugly
and feel helpless to rid of it.
And true despair is when your heart stops beating and starts throbbing,
And pride is what you feel when you hate yourself,
Gluttony empties you, greed depletes you, vanity disfigures you,
yet we wrap ourselves in it all like a heavy overcoat in winter.
But really, it's July.
All bundled up and smothered by our own mess.
Trying to cover up an empty space, or fill it.
Warm our cold hearts, or guard them.
Either way we carry a weight we needn't bear.
But it's so warm in there...
So we may be empty, depleted, or disfigured,
we may have hearts weighed down by festering grief,
we may it rock bottom, who knows how hard?
And as to whether we are alone or lonely...
Well, I haven't taken off my coat long enough to know for sure.