Empty

It’s a cold desolate world in which I live Day in and day out. Every day. Pain is on the face of the masses, Drowning in a sea of their own tears wept from dull and rheumy eyes, staring like the dumb deer they are trapped in the headlights of life about to be mercilessly crushed by the stampeding and rabid herds of time. Their arms reach out to me, directionless branches, waving in a disarray of self pity their hollow cries haunt me when I dream. Their empty eyes have scorched my heart. Hardened it. But there is pain Forced deeper every day by this sickness that is twisting me, and every day I am less human. Yet through the numbness I still feel pain. And I dread the day Oh Lord, I dread the day.