A Lonely Kind Of Late

Lying alone in my bed,

the dark room folding in on me.

Eyes gaze across the familiar room,

trace the windows, the walls, the dresser,

follow the lines of the closet, the bedroom door.

Headlights sweep through from the street below

a neighbor coming home late,

a lonely kind of late,

when you wish you weren’t alone,

but with friends in a well lit room.

Help with this one would be appreciated. I liked where it was going, but it needs help.