Not empty, but vacant.
Gravel crunched on chilly slabs.
Snakes curl from Medusas head.
Emotionless wreck, not far from dead.
The roses scattered on the floor.
Once were black, they are no more.
They are blue, pale blue.
Knowing you are not to blame.
But somehow I still do.
Caught like a wriggling fish,
After fly fishing.
Fisherman, you are just for eating and you landed here upon my dish.
Eating is all you are good for.
Not worth loving any more.
Pile on the chips,
Just a little down.
Bring on the salt and vinegar,
And a chip fork with a tongue!
(c)Livvi