By Chris Walker

(Sunny and C. Walker)
(A collaborative poem between Sunny and myself)

Sipping vodka straight
burns like fire in my throat,
a lone provider of warmth
on such sullen, November nights.

Midnight comes unwanted,
too soon: another sleepless night
Icicle tears upon the chilling fact:

I shall dine unaccompanied.

Cold, TV dinner awaits me,
all evening it has remained: untouched.

My stomach begs me:
Do not taste the lingering omen of isolation,
it only confirms the lack of companionship.

Dare not poison the insides with such a
hideous display of false comfort.
light a fresh cigarette, instead,
to smoke away the sadness
of such an overwhelming solitude.

Sparking small flames
in the bitter hours
of a life alone,

I obey.

Submitted By saeed

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