I crave a distraction from this solitude. Human contact, conversation, touch, a smile; but nothing. Just these walls. It's just me and the four bare walls. I spent the earlier part of the evening drinking and engaging in drivel, (the favourite past time of most hard working West Indians on a Friday) with my cousin and my brother from another mother; and I silently prayed that the night would not end, we would not have to part, because it would mean that I would have to get into my vehicle and drive that desolate road to arrive home to walls.
At home with the walls and the furniture now, it never seemed so empty before; the silence is deafening. On my solitary couch I sit with my one roll of whole wheat bread, two pieces of barbecue chicken and one glass of juice. I switch on the television and tune into the back end of the Bill Maher show on HBO. The usual political satire, but an adequate distraction for now, till it's done, then back to the walls, the furniture and the dog now barking outside, and the occasional vehicle alarm. These sounds pierce through the stillness of the night, making the nothingness even louder. 
I have now resorted to porn (my now not so extensive collection, since the death of my PC) and unemotionally relieve myself of the potential off springs which have accumulated in my laden sacks.
I have now resorted to porn (my now not so extensive collection, since the death of my PC) and unemotionally relieve myself of the potential off springs which have accumulated in my laden sacks.I think that just added to my loneliness, momentary self gratification, not gratifying enough to fill the emptiness I feel. I attempted to drink myself into a stupor, but even after exceeding my self instituted four drink maximum, I was still too lucid and in control of my faculties to feel numb enough not to feel this rancour of my solitude. You would have thought that my self love and the excessive flow of my virility would have at least put me to sleep.
But here I am, awake, wishing I wasn't, waiting for the sandman, waiting for slumber to free me from the confines of these solitary walls.
I can fully empathasize with you having on many occassions been in this very situation. Me and the walls. The silence becomes deafening and dementia threatens to occupy the vacancy left by the echo of the silence. At such times one actively seeks out any form of distraction which may otherwise engage ones gray matter. Silence is golden they say but the is a stark difference between being alone and being lonely.
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