the uproarious chatter
of hundreds of voices
blaring all around you
yet, not a single conversation
is directed your way.
the feeling of the smooth cool glass
your head rests upon,
as you observe the world outside,
and the people who cross your sight
living lives you wish you could participate in.
the crashing, gray, ocean waves
battering away at the beach of an abandoned shore,
the coarse grains of sand
and sharp edges of broken shells
digging into your feet.
the resounding blast of music
filling the silence of a blank white room
as you sit against the barren wall,
head in hands, as tears
silently leak past to fall on your lap.
the rhythmic patter of frigid rain
drenching you in an
unforgivable chill, a single,
forgotten, yellow petaled carnation
laying at your feet.
the pricks of thorn-covered vines
planting you in a dying garden
as you wait years to be found
by someone kind,
who forgives your faults.
longing for someone to stand by you
at your worst, and your best,
but no matter how hard you look,
nobody is there.