The house echos with my empty hell
My working day rots with no-one to tell
Memories are my comfort as I weep
The TV is the false company I keep
This sofa welcomes no-one to sit
The space is declined, rejected, now made inadequate
The cold kitchen hosts invisible culenry actions
An empty room filled with silence that deafens 
Evenings draw in on a blank canvus
Creating a false parallel universe that's hurtful and
callus
The laptop fabricates my social life
A poor immitation for the divorcee's night life
This bedroom beckons my retreat
My anxious mind accompanies me to sleep
The lonely mornings call me to wake
Releasing me from desperate thoughts of my mistakes
There is no doubt I can conclude
That another day dawns assurance of solitude.