The Empty

my chest is concave,

and that's how it starts,

that's how it always starts,

a Hollow,

Echoing

Implosion.

my heart is barren,

my vision gray

I feel empty today.

this empty,

isn’t about me

this empty,

isn’t about anything

sometimes,

sometimes I'm just empty

And it hurts,

the empty.

sometimes It starts angry

a lion in the brush

sometimes It gets lonely

crying to be shushed

sometimes It remains nothing

and everything is hushed

so then the void grows further

It feeds.

I lose a little more each time

that part of me that people see,

the smile,

the laugh,

the energy,

when will they notice

that It's eating away at me?

The Empty.

It feels.

It’s sad,

It’s restrained,

It’s gasping for air,

in the night It whispers,

“I’m lacking purpose”

and I suppose that’s what we all want,

Purpose,

why don't people listen?

It fears.

in the night It thinks

awake when It should be sleeping

stuck in the knowledge that

Someday

this will have been enough

Someday

the branches will break

Someday

I will no longer bear It

and that Someday

is soon.

I feel Its hurt.

It wants to cause damage

It wants to scream

It wants twist and coil and try

and try and try

Until Eventually

there is no more

Until Eventually

It dies.

unlike the flea,

the leach,

of which we can see,

Empty is more alike to

the strongyloides

like the squirmy

wormy

slimy

septicemic

parasite that lies beneath,

It wriggles.

It writhes.

It dies.

as does the host.