Where They Gather

Feeling like the outcast...

 

My rapidly beating heart
grinds to the rhythm and
the sound of nothing.

My hopes building to a crescendo with
the engine of each approaching car,
only to descend with its passing sound.

Shadows speaking to me
as some ambiguos ink blot a
psychiatrist would inquire about.

Yearning for the distant islands
built by clouds on the horizon
where they gather away from me.