Sometimes, when in solitude,
And I know there are no eyes
Watching me unblinkingly,
Waiting for me to falter,
Then, I untie the fastenings
To the door in my mind
In which I hold
All my Unspeakables.
In the room,
On a dusty, sunlight-deprived shelf,
Rests my need.
It urges me to mush through
Lifeless days, sleepless nights,
It makes me hope
For days
That dwindle down to moments,
When I can count each beat
Of my racing heart
In the echoing dark silence.
This hope gives me life.
So sometimes,  in solitude,
I light the dusty lamp of needs,
And watch the flames flicker,
And illuminate me.



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