the clock’s
second hand
soundlessly sweeps
through empty space.
the sun set hours ago.
yellow light
from a lone streetlamp
knifes through gaps
in the blinds.
the tv is dark,
with no new shows to surf
or binge.
and my playlist offers
no solace.
my phone sits
on the bedside table.
all texts
have reached
their inevitable end.
with a sigh
i stare at the ceiling,
waiting for ghosts
to people my dreams.
Photo by mikoto.raw from Pexels
