and dark is each night
Oh the hopeful smiles that light each morning with the rising sun, then collapse into a puddle of decaying lichen when each night I cook for one.
Blankets that stay sizzling on one end of the bed while the other is vacant icy deserted dread.
Haunting an empty house with solitary breaths, turning on every noisy gadget to drown the hush.
Keep busy with a book, with a screen, swirling smoke from between fingers in ashen hope this grim peace lays in tatters—tortured and torn seam to seam.
In stale air a wisp of smoke still lingers, until I blow it away in a tornado of lonely exhale. It disappears into a negated territory of created noises that fill a house of gadgets I've just switched on.
A steady churn of washing machine like a derelict plane about to take off, gibberish on tv left unattended just so this place fills up with useless dialogues, a stranger's laugh/cough.
Patterned suction noises of a tired vacuum cleaner too jaded to feed on insipid cleanliness, relentlessly plugged in..uselessly turned on.
Oh I could do with some noises cacophonic screams and strange voices. A warm breath or two that aren't always mine.
I'm painting the walls with solitary shadows, playing charades with it like a mime.
Anything that fills its cold gut, because it's quieter than a dead mouse..I could do with some babel..just so I'm not alone in my white walled house.
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