Hopeless

He sits alone.
In front of the computer or television.
Alone.
He knows the feeling, the one that sticks with him through everything, the one that constantly reminds him no else is there, the one that gnaws at the back of his brain like a demented rodent on crack, the one that bleeds of irony because it won’t leave.
Alone.
His heart reminds him every other hour that in fact the rodent lives and speaks truth, or maybe this is just some nightmare, albeit most nightmares don’t last your whole lifetime, or do they? The anguish sets him ablaze with emotion.
Alone.
He’s exhausted and the emotions have reached their peek, so he heads for the shower. He undresses and stands at the sink for a moment, a solitary image stares back. The shower pours down upon his body and engulfs it in warmth; the tears join the water in the journey to the drain as usual. He slides to the floor and allows his head to rest upon his knees as the shower continues its rain on him.
Alone.
He finds small solitude in a book, yet the world on paper mocks his own. As he puts the book down the rodent continues to feed. He knows the feeling never left, but his distractions are minute in comparison to the brutal truth.
Alone.
He lies in bed, eyes without weight, mind without end, and searches for a reason for tomorrow. Though he has many friends, all whom say they have his back, he fears it is a front. Those, whom he holds dearest, throw him away. Most of the friendships he has had came with an early expiration date. He replays all the moments he wishes he could forget, while the ones he did forget struggle to be remembered. He turns his head; a teardrop lands as upon a drum by his ear. He wonders why with so many people in this world, how his life can be this way and he sheds another tear as he gains rest for his next day.
Alone.

-J.G.Smith (04/05/05)