Sit Alone

Sit alone, dear quiet one. Your folded arms huddle your knees. Alone in this room, the Night whispers mournful lullabies to you. That dreadful sound of the broken clock; it ticks, and it tocks, wasting your time, second by second. Thoughts of what's to be and what you could never see swarm inside your wishful mind.
Peace, you whisper. Peace is all you wish for. A quiet sound of the muffled breath breaks your realm of intuitive teardrops. Another muffled breath, and your heart leaps in fear. Is it your own? You would assume not.

Huddle close, dear. There is no escape from your narcissistic solitude. A wish may be a dream your heart makes, but a prayer is a whisper seemingly fallen on deafened ears. Nightmares and treasures of memories throughout those years of anguish; threats not empty nor fulfilled.
In every tear is a remedy for the affliction your affection has acquired. A secret antidote inscribed on a prism of empathy collected from souls of anguish. What is to be of your mournful state?

Hush, dear. No longer will you cry. Just continue to huddle your knees; the Night will promise a peaceful ending if you just close your eyes.
Just huddle . . . never again will this happen.