Hearing Loneliness
In bed I lie, feigning
sleep. My mind, ever alert, begins
to pick apart the night. It starts with
a drip
ping
faucet
I cannot bring myself to stop,
merges with the metronomical ticking
of an alarm clock that has been
rendered unnecessary. The not-so-
static noise of TV infoercials, that sad
semi-silenced soundtrack, a constant
din lulling me into complacency. Groan
of over-sized springs, my side of a double
bed that knows no form
other than my own.
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