Her eyes shine like undisturbed dew drops
hovering at the gentle fingertips of young moss
on the northern bark of a white cedar tree
under a lazy morning sun.

Spear points of obsidian pierce the disc:
banished from the core of a volcano
scorched by a molten heart
and choking on onyx soot.

The dawn warmth filters through,
carried by a serene and wafting breeze.
It illuminates the pleasant, tickling greenery,
bringing to light the depth of her irises.

Fire belches from the mountain's stomach,
and the flame ignites a gleam.
Her gemstone eyes shine
as though the embers have been captured within.

At the base, there is the earth:
firm and dark and cool.
Interlocking underbrush layers fawn with chestnut
overtaken but not undermined by powerful streaking tree trunks.

The rim is built of force and rumbles with strength.
A cast of bronze is seething and glowing.
Her intensity blazes as sun spots
deep within ancient amber.

She is as her eyes are
an indigo inferno:
seldom
and
elegantly alive.

Needles sting
And pupils dilate
Cold alley ways in Seattle
Always set the perfect stage
For a trip to heaven
On a sheet of glass

Sirens wail in the distance
But to me, they are soothing
And my hands are blistering
And my knees
Well, they tucked in a while ago

This habit will break
This glass will crack and burn
Dissipate to emptiness
Wash out of my veins and my Wrists
My poor wrists

A door always opens
But my feet are melting
Molding into the ground I sit
Stuck in one place
Eternal
Addictive
Torture

I imagine that people say my name
They say, oh poor Hollow
Pretty and smart
She'll come around
She'll come around

But out here
In these black veins
And tainted blood streets
Hope is a dream
And dreaming is unwise

And who sleeps anyway
You can't sleep on glass
No, it pokes and stabs
And you ache and cry

It will take you
Break you
Crumble you
Shards of dust

You will shatter
And you will be
Nothing more than nothing
Just a broken soul