Please allow me to elaborate:

I measured loneliness tonight.

Counted it on my fingers,

clutched it to my heart.

Not sure if I’d numbered

correctly,

I turned—

only to remember:

no one else

there.

Melancholy

pervaded

the air,

dank

with the smell

of self-pity.

The phone rang,

but

I found myself

bewitched

by my

universe of one,

unable to

answer.

Loneliness

pushed

cold lips

to mine;

shivers

caressed

my shoulder blades,

made me

sick

with

seclusion.

Attempts to shrug

off

only brought

persistence;

I did not

want

such a faithful

lover.  

He gave me

lies

to swallow

like pills,

and I

tasted

on my tongue

the familiar

sour

mixed with

sorrow

as alone

licked

at my

elbows.

The empty
wormed into
my stomach,
gnawed
inwardly.

My heart
beat
too heavy,
echoed
into
night.

Delusion

swam

through

on silent thoughts,

told me

this was

all.

Hard when:

no truth

to feelings,

but

this

does not

negate

their

potent 

poison.