A Meditation on Loneliness


I sit.

Water glances my window(s)

touches with tender


a bit

Just a bit.

of god in each drop

Each whole.

I touch the stream of water

The faucet

That old

That familiar


The water runs


Down my hand,

Wrist, and


It is backwards veins

It carries no life.

No code.

There sits in my mind an idea.

It is prehistoric.

It is so clear.

It sits in me and does not move.

I cannot tolerate it, but tolerate it is all I do.

I cannot say the idea.

I cannot whisper it in the ear of nothing or something

for fear of




How could one put into words

what it is

to have no words.

what it is

to have no voice.

what it is

To be so unspeakably alone.

Unspeakable because

unspeaking is what it is.

We sit together.

But there is no together.

that is what

that is why

(S)S S

(I) I I

(T) T T

surreal poetry
Aoife McAndless-Davis
Aoife McAndless-Davis
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Aoife McAndless-Davis

I like writing about the experiences of young LGBTQIA+ people. And maybe some other stuff too. Pronouns: they/them

See all posts by Aoife McAndless-Davis