The Empty

You bend the shadows, lost in the destroying. You crumple flowers,
trying to find something. So many things you've forgotten, all the things
that made you happy. You throw stones to fail at the skipping, waging
war with yourself to win the empty.

And what do you gain, petulant child? A world of your own imagining,
a devastated planet ripe for the creating? So you mold and you break,
make the shadows obey, you cry and you hate. You have a taste for
blood and you'll have it, all for a glimpse of empty.

Your tears bring forth oceans, your breath is the air, and all of it for
nothing. You picture the veins below your skin and wonder if, tainted,
you could love again. Blood is such a beautiful lover, painting yourself
in dark reds, ignoring the fact that you're empty.

So you dance and you scream, you force heaven to hear you and all
of your dreams. You lie and you steal and you hope for something
real. A bending and broken shadow of flowers that have died. Is the
price of your soul worth the empty?