Wither

23. Hollow

Hollow.

Hollow,

With its empty circles and bare lines—

Hollow.

I am hollow.

I've been carved and shook and scraped

I am a void, a cavern, a memory of something lost—

Hollow.

And your eyes

Questioning and Beautiful and Green

Look at me

Scraping the knife against my bones—

I feel it now—

I hear the cool

Chilling

Sharp

Sound of the scraping

Against my bones—

Searching for what is left

Searching for what used to be

But alas,

I am hollow.

And there it is

The constant sound

The cacophonous,

Hollow,

Merciless,

Wailing siren

Of this ghostly heart,

Wailing—

Wailing shrill and loud

Tearing at these ghostly drums

Oh god!

It is a roaring deafness.

It is the wailing of the wind against my shallow caverns

It is the silent sickness that plagues only me

Seen by only me

Heard by only me

And I am hollow.

I am hollow and I am helpless

As I watch,

Watch as shelterless pieces are

Fluttering

Falling

Tumbling down;

Grey fantastic figures

Falling.

Pieces never to be used again

Pieces torched and ripped and carved away

Pieces that burned so beautifully and so bright

And oh so lovely

That burned and burned

But alas—

Ashen remnants

Drifting down

Upon these

Hollow,

Faded

Eyes.

And I am hollow.