The struggle

I yearn to be a castaway
Yet am always in a crowded room
With dozens of eyes upon me
And dozens of ears listening,
As if I'm exceptional.
And every time I sneak away
I'm discovered,
Curled up in fleece with a book.
This prompts trivial conversation
And I feel obligated to respond.
Perhaps being alone is shameful
Or abhorred by autophobics,
Thus, everyone is an autophobic,
For friendship is now priority
As every space fills with bodies,
All communicating some experience
In hopes to draw others in for duration.
Individuality is the common enemy
They stand against together
So they may feel artificial, familial bonds.
But at first chance, they betray their kin
For selfish pursuits of perceived happiness,
Filling the atmosphere with dense hatred
Settling below the surface waiting to emerge,
Such a sensitive society is no place for me.
I know not the rules of the game,
And I do not show up to the field.
Instead, I continue to attempt adumbration,
Ducking behind books and
Anticipating attacks so that I may learn
How to exist autonomously.