holes

Stream of consciousness late night poetry. Its probably crap but whatever

I feel like there are holes in me. Spots where something is missing. Something burnt away and left to rot, falling to necrosis. I feel as if there are plugs to those holes though. Big rubber and cork stoppers that can be put in, to allow me to stand upright, and make the smile on my face real. Holding someone, that's a nice cork. Sitting next to someone, that's another. Knowing someone trusts you is definitely a big ol' stopper. For now though I'm stuck with this stopper I chose that is just the wrong size. It fits in the holes, but it's way too small to fill the gap. Its not like its the cork's fault, it doesn't know any better. I just chose wrong, is all. I wish other people could see all this. Then maybe they'd understand. Why I'm like who I'm like. Why I'm still looking for corks and stoppers when I've still got my own. Whatever.