At night, the only thing that reminds me that I am not alone, is the whisper of cars drifting down the street,

Head lights giving birth to new shadows, creatures crawling against sleeping walls,

Until melting back into nothing once more,

Darkness, is the stuff dreams are made of, forming shapes and stories from the shadows you collect in yourself over time, hiding within the recesses of your mind,

Constantly provoking,

Darkness that you can choose to curl up in,

Solitary and alone in the thoughts that accumulate over time, drowning light in dark water,

I curl up in the vacant space in my soul and think of my future, which seemed so bright and worth reaching,

Now uncertain, everything valuable about me has collapsed like the death of a star, falling in on it’s self without my ambition to support it,

The sky looks orange, set on fire by street lamps,

I miss the stars,

I can count how many of them I can see on one hand,

I wonder how many of them are illusions, there light fading towards earth, in the way that great things do,

Their presence lingering past expiration,

Maybe I am alone,

Paper houses surround me, but their windows are dark now,

Reflecting, desolate and vapid, the street before them,

Submissive with slumber,

Somewhere in the world right now someone is compiling a grocery list,

Someone has received good news; another has received bad news,

Someone is making love, and someone is drinking cheap wine alone,

I am not alone now, although it appears the way, the mattress bare, covers pushed aside,

The bed too warm,

The cars aren’t coming anymore.