Empty Echo

the sun will be back... the streets show no

remorse for the lives that they swallow

everyday.
sitting next to him in his car, tears falling

from those dark eyes full of mascara and

liner, streaking her face with pain bleeding

midnights screams. the broken life of a

tattered soul, who at some point forgot what

she was supposed to be when she grew up...now

frozen waters harbor her heart, one wrong move

it could be shattered and her life would be

over.

She clutches her purse as if it is a lifeline,

as if it is her breath, her addiction, and

also her worst fear... inside a hidden pocket

is a razorblade, inside another, scissors

bandages... She has only tried burning once or

twice, drugs... more than that, and there is

such a rush when she knows that she can save

herself heartache with blood.

Isn't it so insane to actually be able to carve

into your skin and not feel anything,

perfection could never be attained and so by

making imperfections at least you aren't on the

fence between worlds of perfect and imperfect,

now you are truly a flaw, an imperfection, a

word written in the wrong place, completely

incomplete of what they all expected of you.

I am in a room, Walking back and forth, the

lullaby of an empty echo, the sound of my

shoes creating a sincere silence, a broken

smile, tears...Nothing, I cant even cry

because I have forgotten how to produce

emotion.

In the essence of our past, I could almost

bring myself to a place of substance, where I

used to know how to laugh, or be who I truly

am, but Close isn't close enough.
We were once eachothers air, lifeline, we were

what kept the other one inside and alive in

this life of "half empty-ness"

The city lights cant reassure that I will see

the sun tomorrow, the black streets will

swallow every ounce of anything I had believed

in,
because I know that when I step out of this

car, it will be the end of everything we lived

for, for so long, our entire selves,
The Fragranced air has now turned stale and I

know that It is time to walk away...

I clutch my purse with every bit of strength I

have left, knowing that I can let you go when

I get upstairs to my apartment...in an

enclosed room, alone.

I can carve you out of my soul and my life,

and I can walk away, completely dissatisfied

with myself, and broken because of you.
We must have written this break up a thousand

times in a play, I have seen it in my mind so

many times, and yet, im almost not here, not

aware that it is over.

How bittersweet and tragic that We had to end

on a stage in front of thousands of people

reading our life story in the whisper of a

crowd. How ridiculous and predictable that I

could paint you and everyone else would know

what I couldnt seem to see, I am the artist,

you were the muse, I was the writer, you were

the blues, the colors of emptiness painted

your face, and I was to blind to see that all

this time, I walked in an empty apartment, to

the silenced lullabies of sadness, You made me

the ghost of myself...

The end to every story, the memory that haunts

you, the conclusion to a long year of

emptiness, and hurt, the remnant of whatever I

had left, The empty echo of footsteps where

there were none, Take your bow, I have written

you like we never existed...