Solitary Confinement

I'm concerned now with only solitary things the stinging course of an unwiped tear and a small blonde curl wrapped in plastic never lengthening a fleeting smile forced from cheek's hollow its laughter drowned in a meandering brook that doesn't babble just drifts aimlessly to where a leafless tree seems to haplessly scrape its bank in unwelcome companionship I find I prefer the dead blue of skies to the changeling grey where too many shadows wait for aching recognition and I know I'll never sleep again at night because I can't censure with my eyes closed nor control my emotion's line of sight...