Empty Inside
J_Eyre
Registrant
The wind may whip through skies of white, the sun may blaze with gold,
but in this hush of heavy dark, my bitterness takes hold.
I laugh and linger, wear the smile, the mask they need to see,
while silence slips through every seam and drains the rest of me.
They carved away what made me whole, they chipped and cut with care,
until the shape that still remained was hollowed, hushed, and bare.
What once had stirred behind these eyes has faded, fled, and died,
replaced by dread that moves like mist and nestles deep inside.
No fire flickers in my gaze, no sorrow in my tone,
and over time they start to ask if I’ve become just stone.
They search for signs of spark or soul beneath the frozen glaze,
but all they find are ashes cold and long-forgotten days.
I try to trace the self I was, but all the lines are gone,
erased beneath a tide of time that slowly carries on.
My name still forms upon their lips, but feels like something strange,
a thread unraveling through years too distant now to change.
I do not flinch, I do not fight, I’ve learned to let things slide
the pieces fall, the days drift by, and nothing stays inside.
I’m not a storm, I’m not a spark, not even wind or cry
just something left of what was life, now learning how to die.
Whatever warmth once filled this form has long since slipped away,
a shadow worn by silence now, afraid to face the day.
I move, I breathe, I wear the skin, but none of it is mine
and if they say I’m living still, they never saw the sign.
but in this hush of heavy dark, my bitterness takes hold.
I laugh and linger, wear the smile, the mask they need to see,
while silence slips through every seam and drains the rest of me.
They carved away what made me whole, they chipped and cut with care,
until the shape that still remained was hollowed, hushed, and bare.
What once had stirred behind these eyes has faded, fled, and died,
replaced by dread that moves like mist and nestles deep inside.
No fire flickers in my gaze, no sorrow in my tone,
and over time they start to ask if I’ve become just stone.
They search for signs of spark or soul beneath the frozen glaze,
but all they find are ashes cold and long-forgotten days.
I try to trace the self I was, but all the lines are gone,
erased beneath a tide of time that slowly carries on.
My name still forms upon their lips, but feels like something strange,
a thread unraveling through years too distant now to change.
I do not flinch, I do not fight, I’ve learned to let things slide
the pieces fall, the days drift by, and nothing stays inside.
I’m not a storm, I’m not a spark, not even wind or cry
just something left of what was life, now learning how to die.
Whatever warmth once filled this form has long since slipped away,
a shadow worn by silence now, afraid to face the day.
I move, I breathe, I wear the skin, but none of it is mine
and if they say I’m living still, they never saw the sign.
