By myself
Why do I feel most alone
In the company of other people?
In a crowded room
Or bustling hall
Or on the couch with my lover
Now that no-one is around
It's different, it is merely the absence of people
Their noise and their smells
Their clothes and words
Their warmth and their coldness
But with them I feel
the void yawn before me
Inky, cold darkness
Filled with spiky things
And jagged feelings
I feel how I am different
Like my brain is strangely wired
Like all the words are beating at the door
Growling to be set forth
To do their wicked work
People make me unquiet
And yet I crave them
The mess, the warmth
The conversation, the drama
The many different smells
I crave them and yet
The sweetest moment is when
I leave, or they do
And serenity returns
To my private garden
Then I am alone
With the tangle of my thoughts
Which are sometimes wild
And violent
Maybe they kick and bite
But they are mine
No someone else's
My pain, my doubt
My own loathing
All my own
To be alone can be torture
Or it can be blissful peace
The absence of ripples
On the pond of my psyche
Perhaps, some days - even solitude