Phoney blues

i'm restless in ethereal silence,
it is disturbing, deeply,
on this fresh Monday morning, 
that no one's texted me yet,
and it's already 9.30 a.m.

no replies to what i wrote,
from night's last despatch
outwards to the world, 
or good mornings to whom,
i particularly favour, like, love. 

life can be cruel, smartphone
feels heavy in hand, i let it
slide to the nearest furniture. 
it's emptiness, disconnection, 
no one loves me anywhere.