It's like someone has reached
down my throat
and taken out
everything.
Leaving me
as hollow
as a shell,
But the real me
is still inside my head.
Screaming.
And shouting.
And crying.
But the shell isn't responding.
The shell is nothing.
The shell is death.
The shell is all there is left.
YOU ARE READING
Poems By A Teen
PoetryThese are the thoughts that wake me in the middle of the night. They have sat in my notes for years and now I want to share them.
