I may get dressed
someone might call
although the likelihood
of that is quite small.
A part of me thinks
maybe they still care
and will come and see me
when they have a moment to spare.
But deep down I know
this is not the truth
for I am not the same person
I was in my youth.
Now I find it hard
to look someone in the eye
and when involved in conversation
my tongue gets tied.
Sitting here waiting
for my non-existent visitors,
my home is a prison
and I am its sole prisoner.

Very well expressed
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