The stone is solid and the statues never wince.
Their eyes bore into the onlooking like miners' drills, inch by inch.
My heart, like stone, a viable resource, and I don't even flinch.

Tram lines hover in the cracking, frigid air.
Birds won't sit on lines this cold, so they do look a little bare.
As I look up to see them shiver, I do just the same and leave it there.

Fall has left me longing for the heat.
Ice has cut its shafts and wrapped its razor blades around my feet.
Time is late in many senses, as I wait in the empty, quiet, foreign street.

My thoughts go back to earlier days.
They play things back from different "me"s who lived in different plays.
I used to know that guy, it seems we went our separate ways.

Sickened by the way things are,
I tear my thoughts into a thousand parts,
and wash the wounds that will become tomorrow's aching scars.

Where did all that music go?
I lost my way after the show,
and all the entertainers left their boxes without load.
I watched until they came on back, but onward, so they rode.

After all is said and done,
the ruins are the words to which we clung,
the sentences that never left our tongues.
We heard them ever after, but they were never really done.

And now we are not two, but only...

Lonely.