a poem called the empty

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
“I trust no one, not even myself.”

-Joseph Stalin

Submitted: November 23, 2011

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Submitted: November 23, 2011

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the empty

 

a

disintegrated

sense

of

trust

cast out into the vast wilderness

running in the dark amidst only the

rabid carnivores following, stalking &

waiting on every move---

every footstep, every single breath is

documented,

while the smell of sweat lures.

 

there are the bad memories that outweigh &

blurt out any sense of what was positive.

 

there are broken mirrors & random glass shards

everywhere (remnants of the catastrophic destruction

of

the once glass house).

 

absolutely vacant

 

completely hollow

 

a bottomless

cavern

 

the

last

rung

on

the

ladder

(swinging with one arm before the plummet to all

nothingness)---

 

and if one dropped a quarter in the mouth of

the empty…

 

 

it would only echo as it bounced off the side of the

tunnel

on its way

down.


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