Sitting here in the aloneness of space with jaws of stillness, opening and shutting with private menace.
We come alone.
In bags of secreted secrets that explode on impact, with incremental deposits of sweet sorrows.
Temperatures of past days are cold and brittle, as the fragility of moments that were displayed before us, gather in shapes of nostalgic dustings that leave enough weight for tomorrows.
We die alone.
Even with grouped spirits singing for the choir of dispatches, as crowds increase to greet the latest fallen star, we embody the symbol of invisibility before the soul collides with materials of templates.
Alone with the air as comfort and breathing for nourishment.
The sounds of silence drums through my brain as eyesight settles on white walls that circulate at a steady pace.
The soundtrack to our heartbeats galavant in poised motion, using the headlights of moving things as costume for the party of one.
There’s nothing to witness the gaping wounds of present interference, that hits hard when faded footsteps finally provide the freedom of vastness, stretching as far as you dare.
When you are alone.