Bread, I Am.

I lie here all alone. On this empty table, cold to the bone.
Afraid of what I may not see, I may not have, or may not be.
But still I find solace in one thing, this world of mine, in which I sing.

"Oh world, oh world, why art thou so cold? My arms, my legs, so ripe with mould."

I look around in hopes to see, the people I called my family, and yet they are not here, no one in sight to calm my fear.
People distrust what they do not know, yet I sit here alone by the orange glow.
Is this the life I'm doomed to live?
I'd rather perish to that awful shiv.
My life is plagued with doubt and seclusion, I wonder how they'd feel in such exclusion?

I cry out: "Oh sun! Oh stars! Come to my rescue! My quality of life has gone askew! Where are my friends? Are they gone too? I am not sure what else to do."

I look across this dimly lighted room, and all I can see is never ending gloom. "I MUST SNAP OUT OF THIS!" I tell my soul. To feel joy again is my one goal.

Will death let me out of this sick scam?
Until then, Bread, I am.