“Loneliness” by A. Ortiz


lonely hours are vicious,

like waking in an iron
maiden, each minute penetrating
deep into the vaults of one's
anatomy.

one imagines hanging one's
self with a shower curtain, as if
paying tribute to an angel that has
seen one naked every midnight
moment of one's life.

what hurts so much is
that one does not exist alone.

no mirrors, no echo, and
no eyes to see one grin,
one becomes a 4 a.m. static
television.

one projects nonsense, and
not even mice are bothered.