the loneliness of night

I am getting sick of these nights. They are cold and lonesome. It has been awhile since I have spoken. The hinges of my jaw have turned rusty. I would think it hard for any man to try pry a gap between my lips. The air grows stale within. For the first time, I wake alone. I wash up alone. I walk to school alone. I sit alone. I learn alone. I study alone. I go home alone. I stay at home alone. I cook alone. I eat alone. I wash up alone. I sleep alone.

My life is routine, carried out and accomplished alone. How I wish for a neighbour. Then, the darkness would not be so cold and lonesome. I am tired.

Yet I wait for the better tomorrow. The better tomorrow that will come.


Johnston