she lies alone.
The quiet is all too deafening. It's all there is.
To one side of hers the phone. Talk.
To the other. The computer, chat.
Neither is comforting.
"It doesn't matter" she thinks.
Nothing matters.
Nothing ever will.
Near her, all around her, is the faint scent of despair.
she looks for something to hold onto.
There’s nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing except the silence, the quiet.
"I should get up." she thinks.
"What’s the point?" is what follows.
Her hands tremble.
she wants to cry, but she can't.
It's almost as if she's immune to the situation.
"Stiff upper lip," she thinks "Stiff upper lip"
It doesn't help
Nothing seems to help.
she searches for something more to hold onto. Anything.
All she finds are her thoughts.
They're no help.
All they seem to do is make her sad.
shes all alone
