The Boy With The Cardboard Heart

When you have nobody you have somebody and that somebody is yourself. Because you’re all you’ve got. So why need anybody? Anybody being nobody. Nobody being somebody. Somebody being anybody. Somebody. Somebody. Somebody. Nobody. Nobody. Nobody. Anybody. Anybody. Anybody. Does anybody understand why the I feel like a nobody? Even though deep down I know I’m somebody. Or maybe I’m nobody. Or maybe I’m everybody all at once. I’d have to be everybody since I feel everything. Everything is nothing. Nothing is everything all at once. Everything. Everything. Everything. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. I’m an everybody that feels like a nobody that misses a somebody and that somebody is a nobody. And that nobody is myself. I miss myself. I miss myself. I miss myself. Who am I? Can anybody answer the damn question? No, I have to figure it out for myself. By myself. By myself. By myself. Myself being me. Me being selfish. Selfish for expecting an answer. Selfish for asking the question. Questioning questions. Answering answers. Answer me this: What became of the boy with the cardboard heart? Simple: He folded in on himself when he realized that having somebody meant he’d be nobody because that somebody made him feel warm. Warm being hot. Hot being cold. Cold being the boy - Hot, melting cold. Heartbreak. Broken heart. Caught on fire. Death! Death! Death! Nothing, Everything Everything, Nothing All. At. Once.