You sit in your chair
a record plays in the background
and I know what you're thinking.
You are silent, but your body is screaming.

Your hands folded across your chest,
chin tilted downward.
Your eyes don't meet mine,
but I can see the storm within them.

Your mind is a battlefield
where weapons clash and martyrs fall
you convince yourself
that you are alone
even though I am close enough to touch you.