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Discussion Starter · #1 ·
There’s a party going on

Common ground,
familiar faces in gentle light,
and chords of quiet laughter.
A smile, a touch,
soft talk,
one sky above.

He enters
and squints through a swarming fog
of inside jokes and knowing nods.
They’re dancing
in shadows
cast in doubt.

He lingers,
in a darkness all his own,
as caring voices flutter
over his frail ears,
a language
foreign and cold.

Their comfort,
acid rings on tender skin.
Their bonds, a caustic curse.
There's a party going on,
soft talk,
quiet laughter,
but Without.
 

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Wow, some fine writing here. How often walking into a crowded room have I felt the same. Liked the acid metaphor in last stanza especially.
 
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