Hollow Cup
Sitting back,
The dark corner;
Darker than my coffee.
A black drip;
No sugar,
No spice,
And no, everything is not nice.
A dark roast to match my mood,
The devil must have known I would soon take his whisperous woo.
Sitting back,
Alone and by myself,
It’s quiet, too quiet,
Yet the yelling silence makes me scream head back to the roof.
Hungry for attention but for only a shine of light;
Even though he gives me that look of want,
He makes me feel farther from sight.
The saying goes, “cold hands, warm heart,”
But my heart is as hard as ice,
A blue chill set from the start,
That freezes every single person twice.
A sway in my gray jacket,
The consistent hands that feel this body over,
No longer can take the icy drowning,
Resulting in eyes now set out for murder.
The sweet, innocent, vivacious soul;
Quickly left to form this cold, dark, hollow mind,
Call me pretty,
Call me crazy,
Which one of your moods will choose me this time?
Pushing me to the limits,
The earth crumbs over the steep edge;
A war, forever inside,
These bullets chasing after my head.
You said you would never hurt me,
But your burning fire never heard icey plea,
The time is set to be over,
You know it is is all done and what this will have to be.
But I’ll continue to sit in this dark corner,
Away from the rays of the sun;
Hollow like this empty coffee cup,
Hollow like this bullet between my gums.
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