Blue hue

Its the fish blowing bubbles
and the augmented t.v;
Its the fridge weakly whirring 
and other noises you cannot see.

Its the pulsing in your forehead
when you put in too much thought;
Its the stiffening of your joints
when movement has been naught.

This ensues from wordless worlds
where quietude is morose;
This inkling sense of isolation
where only loneliness can boast.