Hollow

As empty as a corpse I lay in my bed, 

Liquids running out and air running through, 

My bones just cannot carry. 

As a glass vase,

I’m left all alone up on a dusty shelf collecting more while nothing less, 

waiting for the time when someone will once open the cabinet door and find me again. 

I’ll have to be rebuilt to ever hold any emotion again,

but who would ever be willing to restore me?