WHEN ONE LIVES ALONE A LONG TIME

A ritual ingrained

Where you sit stand and sleep

You cling to a particular cup

Spoon and knife

The internet provides

The illusion of passion

A burned soul turns buds of love

Into sludge

An inflatable silver mannequin

Begin to look alive

Sour pleasure down to the bone

A TV on all night

The comfort of voices

You talk to yourself

And plead with trees

Bathing once a week

You no longer

Close the bathroom door