Loneliness (So it Goes)

I feel like all my friends are slowly leaving me.
Just one thing after another places a facade over what used to be my happiness.
Like see the world through rose colored lenses, but suddenly, realizing how many things are going wrong.
It's so hard to tell what's going right, because I'm no longer counting breathing as "right".
It gets harder every day.
I've taken those pills of sympathy others have fed me, but I think I'm about to throw them back up.
I'm disgusted at myself as I look in the mirror.
A face worthy of God turning from, no doubt.
But I digress.

I feel my fiends and I distract ourselves with various things in this world.
Getting closer to the future only brings me pain.
I used to fear the idea of going to a four year and getting a job,
However, I then realized that I was only trying to wish away the inevitable.
I'm losing my friends.
I know I am.
So is thinking about it only trying to wish away the inevitable?
I hope there's a point where if, by chance, everything is stripped from me,
My life follows;
Voiding my existence beyond reasonable means of explanation.
Your soul can never die, but a memory can.
Once ou leave your body, you live on in the memories of others,
But eventually they die.
Perhaps one die everyone who ever knew me will die, and I will no longer enter the minds of any individual.
Perhaps one day I won't even be a memory.
Just a theory; not even and idea, but a possibility.
I will be legend.
Not because people pass me down through story,
But that in which is changed throughout time.
Stripped beyond recognition.
You can replace every part of a car,
But after every part of the car is replaced,
The old car is no more.
So will I be in the future. (Give or take a hundred years or so, given I'm ever married)

I feel this is already happening, though.
I don't want knew friends.
I want my old ones back.
But each one I feel has talked to me less,
But at this point if they saw this and decided to talks to me,
I would feel less inclined to respond.
After all, I hate sympathy.
I spit it out like the Lord spits out lukewarm Christian nature.

We all die, so it goes.