Cheers to the loners outta!

when the mean spirits come,

I serve them a chilled glass of wine, a creative

author; Robert Jordan

or a mean George R Martin,

Trust me.

Misery enjoys its own company.

On a bed soft as feather;

light as the dark recesses of a cave.

Lonely became a sister.

In the soft rushes of the waterfall

Inaptly captured by a rookie poet like me,

In the wild throes of imagination

gone splendidly amok,

Let a person walk in on me, singling me out

for conversation,

mistaking my quiet delight for loneliness

And I will feed it to the hungry anger

Of a Lioness deprived of her hunt.

Misery does enjoy its own company.

Ask me: it’s true!


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