In the bleak hours of the night when electric lights shine on a sterile empty room, there is no other soul to keep company - no veil, no pleading intermediary that can render testimony as to value. Arms that hold no future, vacant corners, empty bottles of wine meant to be drunk amidst friends who stumble, with arms linked, blindly home together exhaling the beery breath of humanity. Alien to self, alien to others, alien to this world. Other inaccessible worlds of possibility which you glimpse as you see fingers intertwined and steps sped or slowed as space is opened to embrace the other in their peculiarity. Possible worlds - but not yours. Barren skeletal emotions which have only the power to gather together all dreams...and put them on the hearth to burn.
Not my usual fare, but branching out and trying something else. Too heavy-handed/derivative, though - wants a more delicate touch. Also, am not at present melancholy - it is hard to be melancholy when secure in the knowledge of bacon waiting for you in the fridge.