Alone.

A pillow soaked with tears
abandoned at a corner of the bed
The bed cold, empty, lifeless.

A shadow cast upon the floor
unable to have a life of its own
Its existence used, abused, pointless.

A plate unwashed on the table
remnants of what it used to hold
The glass half-full, half-empty, whatever.

A shoe worn with age
crouching like a cat under the bed
Its twin lost, free, forgotten.

A pair of eyes red from strain
now closed but yet unrelieved
The pain hidden, secret, unspoken.

A twist of hands small and slender
sliding across velvet with urgency
The release frozen, soundless, forbidden.

A song playing from the stereo
piercing the room that was silent
The rhythm deep, strong, sexy.

A reflection stared out of a mirror
catching moonlight on its curves
The body stripped, bare, naked.


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