Concrete world

I like my concrete world. I walk down the stairs, look for floor # 18 and plop down on my sorry a@#.  I watch the balled up receipt I threw in the corner  of the stairwell, five weeks ago, to confirm not even the janitor goes there. I sit in the corner of the world I know most I won't be able to hurt anyone. Because there's no one around. I'm all alone. So alone.

I sit and tell myself I'm here by all  by myself.

I simply need to keep moving.

I'm beginning to see how people are actually scared of me. And how much of an ass that makes me. I am beginning to see how unkind of a person I truly am. what little I do for society. What little I do for for my family, now days. This is not good. This is not good. I use to think I was a good person. I use to think I was smart, attractive, knowledgeable, better more sophisticated.
In all reality, I have tth skills of no one, going nowhere, and I'm an alcoholic. I simply need to keep moving.