Those Empty Days

Those empty days, empty times,

Looking to those memories,
Good and bad,

Wondering where they’ve gone.
Left without a feeling,
Feeling lost.

These empty days that pass,
That give,
That hurt and leave one wondering.

Leaving one empty,
Sitting and staring,
Thinking and living.
Wondering.

Of those empty days that come.
The welling feeling,
Thinking and hoping,
For the next opportunity,
To feel alive,
To feel meaning,
To feel like a living being,
Rather than an empty object,
A piece of the furniture.

Thinking of those memories,
The good and the bad.
Of the times I felt,
The times, that have gone and past.

Waiting through those empty days,
Where the feeling overwhelms you,
The feeling of lacking just that.
Feeling.

Through these empty days.

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Walking Through Death

I am the one,

The one who walks through death.

To every side, death surrounds me,

Comforts me? No, it’s all I see. I am sick.

Death cannot come, for one living in death.

Everything around me, so alien, yet so familiar. Yet always empty.

Thank you, for taking all feeling.

It can’t be good anymore.

But also it can’t hurt.

Because existing does that to the maximum.