I am as empty as they come
a ship with holes in its floorboards;
life seeps in and out of me, a constant balance of nothingness.
I'm aware of the input, but it slides out from underneath me
before I have a chance to bid it a proper goodbye.

I am as empty as they come
a disillusioned body suffering from disorders of the mind;
a carcass of medication packaged neatly with skin and vacant eyes.

I am as empty as they come:
An abandoned ship,
An abandoned mind,
the disillusioned eyes of the blind.

I am as empty as they come.
But I too,
was once filled to the brim
with heart-pounding vigor.
        
                                      *-lf-

"Have you had any firsts with me at all?" I ask, breath catching and a sadness coming over me as I realize there's not one thing unique about me.

The silence after my question spreads out and latches onto my heart, concreting the idea that I'm nothing special after all.

You flounder, trying to come up with something, anything, but you have not one occasion to offer me.

You possess so very many of my firsts, and I felt there was something important in the act of giving them to you.

But my sweetest memories are quickly tainted by the realization that many others before me gifted you with the same, their own firsts.

And I can't help but feel *****, used, and alone. For a while there, I really thought I was special.

What a joke.

Why does the wind howl so loudly
Why can't the moon talk back
To the lonely souls with tear stained faces
Why aren't the love letters in vintage stationary with ironic stamps and coffee stains returned
Why are novels abandoned and potted plants left unwatered?
Loneliness is universal, and the universe is a hell of a lonely place.

The wind blew my hair
Turned my umbrella inside out
And sent me falling to my knees
The raindrops splashed onto my face
And distant thunder rumbled angrily
Yet I picked myself up and continued walking
In the meadow in the beautiful rain
© SilentCry