Whom do you talk to?
Does anybody know how you feel?
Would anybody care?
Would they really want to know
that you’re not OK?

… … …

You feel lonely by yourself,
you feel lonesome in a crowd.
When did the world turn
into this really long exchange
of strictly irrelevant small talk,
you wonder.
There isn’t one person – among those you love
or hate,
or know,
to whom you could go –
talk about how you feel,
confident they’d understand.

Or care.

Maybe just hear you – no judgment.

… … …

Or anything.

… … …

And then a time comes,
when it’s bigger than you.
When it’s out there in the open
For everyone to see.
When the silence in your heart is louder
than the thoughts in your head,
When darkness has taken you.
By force. Hard.
Left you for dead.
Your strong limbs won’t keep you
from drowning anymore.

… … …

NOW you talk.
There’s a gun to your head.
To someone who just might
pretend to care.
A few minutes, some empty sounds
and a couch to lie down on.
At an intimidating price.
who effortlessly makes you feel
much more alone
than you already knew you were.