Weekends are filled
With hushed conversations,
Heard with ears pressed up to the door.
The angry punch of a pillow as I enter the room
Tells me all I need to know:
They’ve been fighting again about who knows what.
My mood drops like a swing
But I don’t have the strength to swing back up again.
I can’t wait to get out of the house tonight.
And later as I sit
In a stranger’s house,
Staring out the window, watching the flashes and listening to the grumbles,
I wish to go out
And lie on my back in the middle of the road.
To feel the trembles.
To feel anything but the loneliness I’m feeling now.