alone is
never
nearly
as solitary
as it implies

there are the ghosts
of my mistakes
sitting on throw pillows
around the room
smoking grass
and making bad jokes

there are a few
regrets
hanging out of the window
casting aspersions
at the kids playing
kickball in the street

there are my jars
of decaying friendships
immortalized for eternity
having died from apathy
too late realised

in the air
wisps of jelousy
quiet hailstorms
of rages dispensed
onto the heads of the undeserving

currents of indifference
torrents of the tears I caused others
thundering vengence
that was never mine to take
but taken anyway

jagged bolts of seering lightning
striking down love
splitting trust right down the middle
and cauterising the roots
just for good measure

and in my hand
a single stone
worn smooth
warm to the touch
small as a diamond chip
something Pandora
knew I would
someday find
and hold onto
for dear life.