Sometimes, you know,

this humanity tires me.

The other tires me,

who like me,

is always dissatisfied.

And when I see it,

he reminds me that I am too.

With these vices,

these hatreds,

all these sensations,

that I always feel too,

on my skin.

With this need to be right,

with this difficulty

to admit to being wrong,

with this desire to hope,

in what cannot be achieved.

With this desire to dream,

but believe it too strongly.

With this always being a slave

Of their desires and emotions.

With this desire for company,

sometimes mine,

which I don’t always want to give.

And with my constant desire to be alone,

because sometimes,

I can’t stand myself,

imagine if I can do it with you.

.

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