I met a void the other day
He speaks in stutters and rolls his tongue
Talks in slang, then ambles away

And later when I pondered him I wondered
Why both sides of my pillow are soiled
And my journal tastes of salt

I lace these minions with my love
Pull each apart
Too occupied to face my bare heart

So littered and heated with old despair
And for as long as he cares
The void is there.