On a deserted sofa:
my wearied bones and me,
settle in for the evening.
Hollow eyes scan the opaque sitting room.
Back and forth,
a thousand times over.
Loneliness clings to me like a wavering child,
reluctant to leave my side.
There is no way out of this irrevocable desolation.
Nightfall is the ruthless antagonist,
and I, the mangled and weak.
I hear the pounding of invisible footsteps, nearby.
It is only sorrow bursting through the walls again.
Paralysed by my own incurable detachment,
I raise the white flag of despair,
and wait for the silent killer to approach me.
The idle hands of distress reach for me,
only this time, I do not put up a fight.
My wasted heart offers itself, willingly.
This room is loveless,
and I am slowly withering away.
I called for love to free me from this awful soundlessness,
but not even passion or tender emotion can save me tonight.
Lying on an empty sofa:
abandoned and cold,
I scan the opaque sitting room once more,
looking for reflections of splendor.
The deafening echo of invisible footsteps standstill.
It is only sorrow; my loyal companion,
come to take me home.
