Written December 1998
there is a hole inside me
getting bigger and bigger
eating all that's left in me
leaving me wondering at night
still as a photograph by day
hearing nothing but silence
laughter are all but sadness
talking none other than cries
unmercifully killing me
left me no choice but to wilt
like a flower pressed in a book
secrets hidden and untold
leaving me out in the cold
YOU ARE READING
PARTS OF MYSELF
PoetryPoems written long ago, When internet was still boring, When the TV was broken, When I was still a virgin-- on the ways of the world mentally; physically; And words were my only friends.
