The hollowness in me


I haven’t had the courage to write,
to put a pen onto my wrist and bleed
the little feelings I have left inside of me.
I do not wish to see the deft strokes of words
slashing through layer after layer of buried strength.
I haven’t had the will to put onto paper and ink all the secrets,
and all the swaying pools of thoughts that reside in my heartbeats.

— hollow
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