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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Short poem about being lost inside our own mind and feeling empty

Submitted: January 24, 2019

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Submitted: January 24, 2019



The oasis is dry, yet I keep coming

Just a few drops would save my soul

Hope spoon-fed me dreams of peace

But life decided to let them die in the cold

The land is barren, yet I keep sowing

The fruits of my wants are fragile and weak

Their smell is the scent of sweetness

But the taste is bitter and rotten, making me sick

The pyre is extinguished, yet I keep hoping

For the feeling of warmth in a cold night

My hands frozen, my soul numbed

Not even the faintest flicker of light

The well is poisoned, yet I keep drinking

Knowing I will eventually die

For my thirst is strong, but not so my will

And I just keep believing my own lies

The place is deserted, yet I keep looking

For someone to take my loneliness away

I can see the ghosts walking right through me

And all I can feel is my own dismay

The house is empty, yet I call it home

For this is the only place I know

I laid my bed and now I’m sleeping in it

Unaware of the monster that also sleeps below

My soul is empty, and I keep trying to fill it

With wishes and tales of salvation and hope

For what use is a body without one

Just an empty husk, life’s cruelest joke

© Copyright 2019 Broken Toy. All rights reserved.

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