We spend our days in solitude
in three different rooms
with three different screens.
The sounds of electric audio,
a roar compared to vocal streams
barely audible, yet the only thing
proving the existence of being.
Meals eaten with hurried silence
to escape the awkward climate
and return to private relief.
Nights spent in hiding, avoiding
conversation and confrontations
or anything in between.
This type of life is wild
in its unforgiving unconcern,
baring its fangs in words unheard.
YOU ARE READING
Simply Poetry
PoetryA collection of poems by Sean Arturo Last. You are encouraged to leave your interpretations in the comments. -- © All Rights Reserved (No unauthorized copy, distribution, transmission, or alteration of the work.)
