One can't help but doubt -
The bulb in a dark room -
We blindly stumble in and out of each other nightly
Running away into mirrors of whence we came
Alone
After all, silence could be the screaming of Death's victims filtering into the abyss of an unreturned hello
But we'd never hear it : only feel its cold feet
Already gone
Already gone
The floor never looks cleaner than when we neglect the mop