All the friends

All the friends I didn't make

keep inviting me to

parties, hikes, bouldering or concerts -

But I keep declining.

No choice is better than the wrong choice

So I stay at home in darkness,

sad and cold, not uttering a word,

my tears splash on the page

the ink runs and melts,

Disappearing

Like all the friends that I didn't make.

Am I getting too old?

To feel like the world has meaning

and I can add to it

Why is it always that my thoughts corrupt,

my tears turn into poison,

and life itself becomes dark,

obscured by the mountain of random probabilities,

of coincidence and statistical insignificance

A fear of losing something that was never owned

turns into thorns carried like a crown

but after crucifixion, there will be no salvation

Not this time.

At the end of this world there will be no fireworks,

no triumphant trumpet, no buffet,

Only steady state equilibrium.

The vacuum fluctuations will have died out.