The Depths of Loneliness

Eventually becomes like wading through
an empty, throbbing, aching rhythm.
Which clings ever tighter
to your desperate, wilting soul.
as you apathetically un-dance the blues away.
Single beds, double beds,
Hotel Rooms and Bed and Breakfasts,
you still sleep alone
and there is only the cold side of the bed.
Slight conversation and brief acknowledgement
are so frustratingly important.
And the food you force into your body
just keeps you prisoner longer in those bones.
A mile is not a true measurement
for the frozen continent adrift, alone, inside.
To walk around the busy, crowded streets
daily ignored, unwanted and uncared for
like a still breathing new found ghost
just pulls you deeper into the mental vertigo
of that twisted, despicable, wretched divide.

Paul Tristram is a widely published Welsh writer who deals in the Lowlife, Outsider, and Outlaw genres.  He wrote his first poem as a teenager following his release from the (Infamous) Borstal ‘HMP Portland’, and he has been creating Literary Terrorism ever since. Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul's website.