Letter to you

Nights like these remind me how lonely I am;
bunchful of friends around me
but no one whom I trust,
none whom I'd confide in.
The words remain,
always,
at the tip of my tongue.
All the very time,
but they never escape.
Never.

For once, I want to say it out loud;
for once, I seek mercy.
Why do I have no one?
Why do I not trust anyone?

I hid the truth within symbolisms
between multiple sheets of papers
but even there, the naked, masked truth
felt too dangerous to appear.
So I removed it even from there.

Therapists cannot help me either.
I don't believe a word of one
who doesn't care for me.

And no one does.

So I come to speak to you instead,
the only one who calms me.
And I ask you to take me home,
take me with you,
be with me.
But you don't.
You say I'm not ready.
You say I have a life to live here.
But you know the truth, don't you?
You know every part of it, every single bottle of it.

I don't know what you want from me.
You ask me to ask everything into my life
and look at these midnights where I'm doing the opposite.

I need to stop this, right?