[84] Empty Out


Who knew he’d find stability
In the work of sorting piles?
Probably everyone who told him.
Such unfamiliar shelves
Underneath what they’d held,
Here for just these moments
In this interphase.



Wish those little scraps of life

Could mean something right now.

Inadequacy, and unwilling apathy

Swallow all else I feel, somehow.

I feel so dirty, unclean, unfinished, unkeen,

In discomfort, disharmony with myself, harming me like nothing else,

I guess it’s better than panic, despair, or my other weathers fared,

(Yet still there remains a fear of a far more frightening feeling,

That of which only the lone heart hath bared)

But if you were to look beyond my ever-so-present apparent lack of care,

Maybe you could see just how hard I’m fighting

Not against you, or the demons that surround us,

But against myself, because I want to be more than this.

am more than this. But I can’t see it anymore.

Where am I? This can’t be me.

This isn’t what I’m meant to be.

I can’t see.