A Lone Soul

A cold hand touches the soul
Draining warmth, comfort
And connectivity.
 
An absence of sound, laughter
Words fail, claimed
By empty air.
 
Phone buzzes on the table
Is it a friend, family?
No, a game alert.
 
Flipping through channels
Searching social media
For something.
 
A need to reach out to another
Yet unaware of its urgency
Until they walk in.
 
They fill the void
And like a moth to flame
Rush to them.
 
Or maybe the door
Never opens, always closed
And we hide
 
Behind curtained windows.

Again With The Lies

Sharp little nails I sleep on at night.
Each a regret, a nightmare, a lie.
 
Toss and turn on this prickly bed.
No comfort when doubt lives.
 
I push back, I fail,
Relapse into old patterns.
 
Rebellion has yet to set me free.
Caged by painful repetition.
 
Success is a bird that soars.
Failure the chain buried in the ground.
 
Darkness tugs on tired eyes.
“Maybe tomorrow.”
 
Again with the lies.