wandering my mind, hollow now.
secrets tucked in the seams, invisible to passer-bys.
each step leaves an imprint behind,
dust settling into the crevices left by my toes.
the world empty,
immune to stolen glances between souls and half-hearted exchanges.
peace swept away,
pushed to the side by an old broom of straw and wood.
I try hard,
harder to breathe.
but all that is left to soothe my lungs
is the empty, grey air,
void of the warmth of shared space
sometimes I sneak away
to send a fluid rush to my veins,
entrancing my mind in a fictional fantasy.
alone, I bathe in my secrecy,
cleansing my skin with vibrant truths.
Copyright © Morgan Tate