journal · poetry

Empty Place

I’m hiding things in places
Where I don’t have to look at them
I’m picking up the pieces
Of my soul
And running fast away
From the wreckage of this day
And fall into abyss.
Take me home, my love,
I beg
Blow out all the candles on this
madness.
But I am home,
Without my love,
Where all the empty spaces
Shout his name
And I cannot hide empty spaces
with ornaments
or decorations
Or in any hiding places
Where I don’t have to look at them.

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