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Poem

You left. I’m not full of anything but nothingness. 
It’s an interesting feeling, nothingness. It hurts so badly you’d think something was there. But when I check, it’s empty. There’s nothing there. 
I wept. My eyes burn like a thousand blazing suns, full of dust and grit that scrapes away my sclera until tears of blood drip red tracks down my cheeks.  
There was something there. 
No words. They erased my poetry the day you left. The words are forgotten and tasteless on my tongue. I lit a candle and seared my flesh to burn away any trace of myself, like a thousand blades tracing red lines into my skin. Was something here?
No songs. You took my voice with you beyond the veil of human sight. The phantom whispers will forever echo into the speechless abyss of my mind. Feeble scratches into my frail human papyrus, a promise never to be fulfilled. Were you ever here? 
I’m empty. An emptiness so full of hate and pain and grief that I will never again be filled. It soaked into the lining of my chest cavity until every breath I take is drowning, seeped in sorrowing despair. The vivid imagery of a charnel house in human flesh. Death is here.

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