Alone

I sit inside my heart, an air-
filled chamber with one window
to let in the night. Silence

stifles, a soaked pillow on my face,
an anchor wrung around my ribs,
a parasite sucking my energy
to dial, to speak, to care. Music

is no remedy, managing only to make
the room seem bigger, emptier.
My own breathing pushes the walls

out, increasing the distance
between me and the world. Does
it still exist? The walls are too far

off to see, so I crumple with nowhere
to go, a limp nucleus in a solitary
atom, fainter than the shadow of mist.


Just a poem I wrote just now, how I'm feeling. I was trying to feel productive.