Like the shutter on a camera lens the darkness closes in,
Silence becomes ever deafening as it grows louder,
This is the sound of loneliness.
All I hear is that of chatter in my head, the underlay to the carpet of thoughts rolled out to nowhere,
Rarely vibrant red, more often dreary grey and my footsteps echo on this solitary walk.
I lie on the spot marked X in the same PJ’s, same hands folded across the same belly
Head tilted towards the window to view the charcoal portrait of the night,
No birds fly by for they are sleeping as should I but my mind rushes in and out of the corners looking for escape, awake, alive, and yet as heavy as stone,
The clock is digital it does not tick, even the tempo of loneliness has died
I cannot even hear my breath, but what I fear more than this is the madness of Solitude.