How quaint it must be
to stare into an empty room,
parted from those you recognize,
and feel your pulse increase.
To be alone from a loved one
for longer than a mere hour
and have panic rise in your gut,
reaching for your heart.
When my rooms are full,
I am faint;
my loved ones gone,
I am not uncomfortable.
Loneliness is my anti anxiety drug:
my body cold,
my surroundings silent,
my mind tranquil.
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Sitting Here Thinking (2019)
PoetryShort poems of varying subjects and construction, but deep enough to be swallowed in. Written while sitting anywhere, lost in thought about everything and anything. These were written mostly in the year 2019. Please feel free to leave any feedback...
