It's 11.23 am
And I've nothing left to say
I think I'll allow some sleep tonight
So I don't have to feel this way

I've never hated an object more than when I found that little red notebook of hers.

My heart sank to depths no ocean could reach when I saw how stained with life her words were, despite her claims of hollowness and a dead soul.

Her words mocked me. They were still alive.
She wasn't.

music hollows
out an empty
heart and plays
its strings.

© Ben Ditmars 2014

Is this what it feels like to live an empty life?

I sat by your side for three hours that night while you slept.
Your face was at peace, you reminded me of a child whose innocence was still in place and not yet bustled about or knocked over by the harshness of the world.
Your breathing was even, more so than it ever was because you were always doing some sport (running, mostly), so maybe one day you'd be strong enough to fight back the life that always caught up to you.
You were still.
You weren't turning away from me, you weren't sliding your hands up and over my thighs, you weren't shifting around to find a better position with me leaning against you because for whatever reason the space I occupied not only next to you but in your life made you uncomfortable.
I sat tucked against your side and listened to you breathe for three hours.
I heard the breaths you took and the way you sighed when your body thought nobody could hear and I've never been in love with a sound but I would be satisfied if I never could hear anything else but that.

It's been four months since you left and that memory is still what says goodnight to me.

it's funny how
after days
and weeks
and months
of you looking at me
you never really saw me

and even funnier yet how
after days
and weeks
and months
of you being gone
you're still the only thing i can see

Oh,
but no one heard the broken girls with the hollow screams
and hairline fractures running through
their ice-chilled hearts.