Poem #137

Loneliness came knocking at my door and
made a home for herself on my couch.
And my bed.
And my sink.
And my kitchen counter.
And everywhere I go.
She is just here.

I sometimes feel like I could touch her,
as if loneliness was a person.
I can feel her wrapping her cold arms
around my neck every time I lay down
in my empty bed. She loves to greet me
every morning when I’m still half asleep,
reaching my hand to the right side of the
bed looking for someone who is supposed to be here.

She sneaks into my pocket and makes me
carry her around so I can feel here even in a crowd.
My friend loneliness never sleeps. Her only purpose is to make me sink.

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