The empty chair
In the corner of the room
Used to be
A plush scarlet luxury to recline in
But now all it is
Is a rickety reminder
Of your ghostly existence
And your haggard absence
And the reason why the empty chair
Was abandoned
YOU ARE READING
Written in the Wondering State
Poetry"If we exist only to someday cease, Who are we here to please? These drops of life we continue to seize; Do they make us thieves?" If poetry is constantly spilling out of me like ink upon the parchment of an aspiring writer, then why not write it al...
