Poetry

sights never heard

a lack of pain,
hope, joy in the midst
of a rowdy crowd,
smells i’ve never tasted,
sights never heard,
i am empty. empty
not broken; broken
can be repaired, sealed off
with cement, but empty,
empty is a state where
you try in vain to fill
this hole but you lose yourself
in the hopeless process.
a blackhole hungrier for my
sensory and memories.
i feed the beast,
i crave it’s teeth;
the pulling, gnashing.
the tearing
of ribbons of flesh; devour
me until i am lying
in a pile of my rotting remains.

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