Battlefield... Poetry

It’s like a battlefield,
I don’t want any of you in my room
Searching for place to enjoy
In the pour of the Moon
And then as soon
As the light dims
Flee.
I don’t want any of you any close
Any of your voices
Any of your words
Born in a plain, ugly need
To rejoice.
It’s like a battlefield
I don’t want to stand among crowds
Stiffened air and empty lungs
Reaching hands in attempt to scratch skies
Vainly. 
Or maybe, I am sick of the fact
That among all of these smiling faces
I am the one who is not living a life.