and yet.

i'm not particularly alone
there are people at my sides
pressing in with their minds
and hands; chipped nails and
wrinkled knuckles
and flower-scented hair.

i don't think or care
of all those that are reaching
and missing for the hem of my
soul; sticky fingers that
take take take
and maybe i just don't want to
fake all that friend-ship
that drifts on and away.

i just keep saying no
but people, they hear what
isn't said, and instead
amble along in my step
even though my shadows fled
the moon's up; the sun's dead
and yet...

no no no no
i keep saying no.