Alone and scared.
The wind whistles
Lifting small clouds of dust and some dust is blown away,
And other shifts but stays.
Im no longer my true self.
The me of me is melted,
Down to the metal base of a blackened wick,
Where did all my candle go?
There was once a bright light,
Even just for a while
I am an aching lump of working organs,
A dry eyed,
Slope backed thing.
I keep repeating truth.
Trying to think true things,
But they are no more real than things that aren’t.
And so the outside is as empty as me.
Blank, with barely the courage to smile.