I heard a poem within the rhythm of the ticking  clock,
then tried to capture its beats of midnight within the lithe lines.
I whisper the lonely love songs even though a reply never comes back.

I see the subtle shades of silence that wash over my room,
as deafening silence from a familiar friend comes slipping in.
The only comforting sounds come from fear who waits beside my bed.

“Alone, as always” tenderly dances across my petite collar bone,
delicately caressing my skin, while sliding down my spine.
The string of embracing words soon dives through my ribs to seize my heart.

No longer able to hear the poem over the sounds of choking,
holding back the tears that repress the sting of fear.
My eyelids shut and pictures of the times before come alive.

Terror calmly strokes its tendrils through my hair,
strange comfort because he is always the only one who notices me.
These are the times that sadness and terror become my friend.

I reach out in the darkness in hopes that someone will notice,
remember that I am struggling too, but the world spins without seeing.
Fear drips around me in hopes to make me visible to someone, anyone.

“Darling, cry for help” slithers into my ear and slides down my throat,
but as I call out I quickly stop because no one will remember.
How quickly others forget me in my time of need.

Darkness cradles me in his arms like the other times before,
these moments calm my broken heart that is stitched with patience.
Stillness comes and I can hear the poem once more in the rhythm of the ticking clock.