What’s it like to feel alone,
breaking silence self-inflicted,
when staring somberly at the phone,
the broken images depicted?
I hate the way it doesn’t matter;
the more I think, it’s simply sadder.
I try to think of better times,
but when I do, it’s just black rhymes.
I force myself to just feel numb —
an atrophy, in past so dumb.
I think I’ll simply end it all,
just to savor the moment in my fall.