These are the hollow days
the empty crusts of life
the years of pills and bare white walls,
doctors in clean coats,
half-drunk bottles and
women with shocked eyes.
These are the fallow days
the days of morose yearning,
aimless hungerings in low places;
thoughts like lead,
limbs like chains
and nights we grasp just how much
we’ve lost.
These are the lonely days,
yet somehow we wish they were lonelier;
surrounded only by trees and
dreadful thoughts,
These are the days we can wear like scars,
The days we will be reminded of,
and look away from,
the days we will not warn our children about.
These are the hollow days.
Hollow Days
