I have become as
.....h o l l o w
.......as the bottles I drink,
...............n u m b
.......as my cold fingers,
..e m p t y
..................as the inbox in my phone,
.....d i s o r i e n t e d
.............as this poem is written.

How much more naiveté
do I have to go through,
in order to realize?
Because I know I'm hurting,
yet I don't know how to explain the pain.