Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Its the fish blowing bubbles
and the augmented t.v;
Its the fridge weakly whirring
and other noises you cannot see.
Its the pulsing in your forehead
when you put in too much thought;
Its the stiffening of your joints
when movement has been naught.
This ensues from wordless worlds
where quietude is morose;
This inkling sense of isolation
where only loneliness can boast.
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