Poems of a Broken Man

The Hole She Left

I just have this really empty feeling inside. Like someone's scratched out the middle of my chest. Hollowed it out like a pumpkin, ready to be carved and lit aflame. Or like the inside of an Easter Egg, strong outwards appearance but with an absolute lack of filling. 

It's not just her, though it quite usually is; it feels like the world is somewhat against me. That everyone hates me, has a grudge or doesn't care. Including her, but she's was the one who took the first scoop to empty out my chest first. Where once she had made safe haven inside, she had now abounded leaving it hollow, baron and bare. I've yet to find someone to replace that hole she left, I don't think I ever will. Because part of me desperately wants her to make sanctuary there again soon. Someday, soon. Or even just someday. Whenever she wishes.

But everyone else used to lean on my structure, which was filled while she lived inside my chest. And now without support they've all found elsewhere to lean. It's not their faults, they don't even know they're doing it. But it feels bad to be so needed and wanted one moment, to then suddenly feel unusable, untouchable, and irrelevant. 

Pick me up, throw me in a trash heap at the local rubbish tip and watch me drown in the masses of filth below. But anyway. Who cares, right? Certainly not them. Certainly not her. Certainly nobody cares.