Friends

My margins are equations formulating open ended answers to a closed question. 

I ask myself, friend? 

What is that? Who is that? 

Though my reply replies that I am in abundance, 

I can’t help but wonder why I feel detached, 

Amputated from society and fed to a void; I am circled by sentences that should have commas but are fastened by full stops. 

Like this life, just a short snippet of something bigger than what it should be, a trailer of a trailer trailing to a conclusion that has no intro. 

Still, 

I beg not for my words to be an infinite reminder that friends, 

Don’t seem to exist in this life package I was offered.