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Empty
The years of inner screaming have subsided,
The flotsom and jetsam washes up to shore,
The past lying in ruins about us,
Crying no more.
I am an empty slate,
Waiting for the great author to scribble upon me.
Who was I? Who I am? Who will I be?
Anyone but a victim...yet again.
Will not someone take my hand
And help me walk this walk.
I am so tired.
Hold me.
nice...emptyness could be good sumtimes... bad sum times... i wanna be empty so i can forget ..btw, nice poem...
Will not someone take my hand
And help me walk this walk.
I am so tired.
Hold me.
i liek this part the most...
so lifeless..." empty"...
~tessy