In the silent chamber of solitude,
I pour my soul onto paper,
Words dripping like tears
From an unseen wound.
Each verse a whispered plea,
Echoing in the vast emptiness,
Lost amidst the noise of indifference,
Drowned in the silence of neglect.
I sculpt emotions into stanzas,
But they remain unclaimed,
Unnoticed, like forgotten dreams
Fading into the shadows of obscurity.
The ink stains my fingertips,
A reminder of the futile dance
Of expression in isolation,
A solitary waltz with no audience.
I write to release the ache within,
Yet my words fall on deaf ears,
My heartache swallowed by the void,
A solitary lament in the vast expanse of apathy.