The Soloist

I bite the tip of my lonely pen so hard
   from the rage of the dying of the night
My blood is a swift angry river
   coursing through me veins
My eyes are two pools of black and blind
   with the words so difficult to find.

One soft sound
   everything disappears;
the wild tapping of the wind by the window
   the hallelujah of the band on the stereo
and even the furious hollering of the wolves
   Comforting lies louder than any truth
Promises made vanished when they stole my youth.

I scream but no one seems to hear.
   I stand but no one is even looking at me.
I run but no one seems to mind.
   I cry but no one really cares.
For  in this life, we only walk alone.
   Fallacies, deception, indifference built our homes.