lonely people do lonely things
they make homes out of
empty theatres
while they hold
an invisible hand that belongs to
an invisible body that sits
in the seat next to them.

lonely people have lonely habits
they roam the corridors of empty malls,
finding themselves seeing
an entirely different person
in each reflective surface they pass.

lonely people hide in lonely spaces
like the bottom of an empty wine bottle,
or the inside of an out of tune grand piano,
gnawing on the strings and getting them caught
between each bone of the ribcage waiting
for someone to come along
and pluck them just so they can
call it music.

lonely people fall in love with lonely things,
like the inconsistency of the moon
and the overwhelming light of the sun,
getting caught between which one is better to be
in love with,
over which one will keep
the loneliest heart of all
the most
safe.