Empty, Devoid, empty.

I have nothing to say.

Really.
Like nothing at all.

I am more empty
Than what it feels
After a half hour bent over a toilet.

After, perhaps, emptying myself into
Some boy I ran into
(And ran into.)

But enough of that.
No one needs to hear of my exploits.
They aren’t that impressive anyway.

I am an empty man is all.
Unimpressive, I know.
Devoid of any substance, a paper doll
Cut from papier-maché.

A thing composed of ice and wind,
A fragment, then, material only to phantoms,
A toy to be enjoyed by wanton ghouls.
Not a thing at all, really.

Yet such a thing could view the dawn,
Maybe.

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~ by Benji on 7 September 2014.

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