sola

sola

each of us, sat alone in shivering boxes, made less fatal

with predictable wall art; dented trinkets of teenage hope.

sun-faded photos of happiness, paper lists of the things we’d like to manifest,

gathering dust under leaflets, for events

we’ll never make it to.

bent double; retching yesterday’s hope

across social media; our lack lustre bait

catching little more, than vapid, bloated

floaters.

dressed down, heads bowed, we follow lines

on the pavement; hope quivering

as we avoid the chewing-gum cracks,

with exquisite moments of optimism.

we reach out through imagination,

our boldest, silent dreams, building bridges

to magic.

except no one can see our unspoken innards.

we remain, fortified. time-served defences,

having become outfits we no longer have to remember to put on.

waking in the twilight, with aching livers,

as the sun delivers

another day

longer than the one before.

only the lonely

understand,

what it is to be alone.

and we are all too broken

to talk to each other.

too brittle

to smile.

too scratched to reach our play-off.