Hollow
Published in
May 17, 2022
The hollow man in the corner
wears my skin; he moves achy,
tinny and creaking.
There is ample room
in the mind we share-
lit from fogged windows
he calls his eyes,
weak and withered he wanders
fields where grey-faced corpses sprout
from blood and shouts
cry out from broken men,
tables where life drains out
through cold steel teeth to
stain the air sickly sweet,
rooms where sad eyes tell us
we’ve lost another one
and turn away,
away again.
Weighted limbs plodding mechanically
along he walks, he walks,
when one of us has to.
