Empty Room Monologue

There is an emptiness at night
That morning’s never seen:
The throbbing pain of words we say
But do not really mean.

There is a slope, a precipice,
And safety is so fleeting —
I wish I was a tourniquet
So I could stop the bleeding —

But gnawing at my very soul
And eating of my ghost
Is all that I have said and done
To those I love the most.

So tell me now, you empty room:
What all is next to follow?
And how can guilt so fill me whole
And yet I feel
So hollow?

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

2 thoughts on “Empty Room Monologue”

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