Putting a gun in my mouth. Being along as an introvert is cool, however I am alone. I live and breathe alone. I think alone, I eat alone, I talk alone, I wake up alone, I go to sleep alone, I workout alone, I read alone, alone, alone, there’s no one else here. It’s just me, I feel no other presence, a room at first glance looks big and grand. Awaiting a ceremony of joyous accounts, windows in the room give sights of parties happening next door, a greatful hope washes over. The room is empty, the room is still empty. The Room is still empty, you are empty. T I want to put a gun in the back of my throat and pull the trigger. I’ve been alone for years now, one way or another it’ll end.