On being alone

Lean against the lock, wonder

about life in the singular.

Solitude –

the silent stillness of a home,

tick of a clock.

Tranquil paths trod, 

past faintly breezing grass.

Then in bed secluded

where rhythmic rain

soothes you. Peace

behind this door again,

sanctuary. Here, sat 

on the cool oval,

their music a distant muffle,

inhale. Be still until

your shards pierce the tiles,

electrocute you.

Stifle the sound, rage quietly 

at unexpected loneliness.