empty.
a cyclical poem
Nov 7, 2020
empty.
like promises. like this bottle.
like the people i use to pass the time.
these easy breezes that come and go
couldn’t even be bothered to share
a whiskey hangover.
too threatened by the
particles of grief that
spill out of me when i take
my mask off, like it’s something
they could catch. which
version of me will suffice tonight?
what mannequin? what
spell must i put you under?
it can look like me, talk
like me, and even have opinions
but, i know,
i know,
as long as i keep it
empty.
