Empty Things

Dead inside, the way the shadows can kill you, the way your hidden places will make you empty.

Empty Things

Darkness lurks in hidden places.  In the corners of the world where foul things linger, where dead things breath.  In the winding twilights of the lost and lonely souls, in the twisted roots of the human heart.  Death does not exist there.  The grave cannot hold the missing.  And the empty things that haunt, that live, or die or maybe just exist- they hunt.  They hunger for reason, for breath and emotion and even pain for they feel nothing.  They are the cracks in the world.  They are the lingering fingertips that run shivers down your spine and ring the silent bell.  They are the shadows that you feel dancing in the edges of your vision.  They are the in between that belong no where and exist in nothing.  They swirl in the ragged cloak of stealthy secrets and thrive on a killer's breath.  They seep like water, like poison, into your heart and sway, whispering, to tempt you to madness.  They search for trust, for faith- it is their favorite feast.  And with a kiss they silence all resistance and drag you down to drown.   Flailing, struggling, searching as you claw for light, for hope, for something to call your own- voice silenced as you beg, tears streaming, for someone to answer.  You can be saved, you can- but no one sees you.  And so, in your own shadow, in the hidden places, in the broken parts you thought you could fix by ignoring them and shoving where no one could see, you die.  With a silent whimper, an unheard cry, you die.  And there is no mercy, no sympathy.  The reaper offers no hope, the funeral no tears.  You get up to face a day that you will never see as your body moves along familiar paths, greeted by the people you loved who don't see the blank eyes, the empty stare.  They fixate on the tacked up smile and call it good, call it fine.  And so you die unknown and unremembered, to live out your life as one of the empty things.

Author's Note

Listen to the song on the link as you read please. Do not own the song- I was listening to it as I wrote. Click on the title to view.

Reviews

[JB Henderson]

I'd actually categorize this as a poem if it were formatted differently, considering it's more of a description. As a poem, however, it isn't bad. :)