Most Nights We are Alone

Most nights we are alone,

Trying to form a shape,

Wrecking with the pain of a bleeding heart,

In desperation to flatten the lump formed in the throat,

Trying to keep it as calm as possible

Not to wake our partners beside us.

Most nights we are alone,

Clenching onto pillows,

Playing loud music,

Pretending sleep,

While we writhe in pain.

Most nights we are alone,

Thinking of faces that promised company,

Faces of people we assumed would hug us,

Hands that we thought would caress us,

And talks that we registered would soothe us.

Most nights we are alone,

Peeling off our gender,

Searching for an identity,

Making sense of our essence,

Organizing our anger,

Revolting against the structure,

Living past the breaking point,

Storming a mysterious body.

Most nights we are alone,

Cursing the dreams we believed,

Blaming the instincts that spurred on dubious actions,

Marking the words we spat out without tasting and

Lines we crossed, forgetting our position in the 'system'.

Most nights we are alone,

Unable to find a road,

To be on a track to run through,

To walk at a time that can heal us,

To solve the puzzle that eats us.

Most nights we are alone,

Forgetting we were born alone,

We have always been alone,

And we will all die alone.

A. C

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