I left myself for dead, an empty case,
While I dreamt of times long gone, long forgot.
I spent a cold, dark month suffocating,
A long month of crushing, of breathlessness.
I had lost my heart forever, I thought.
Awake was suffering; alertness, pain,
So I drowned myself in dreaming and sleep,
And closed my eyes to the world;
I am not an artist for no reason at all,
So I think this art, this time, I’ll keep.
I buried your beloved name in ink,
Drowned every perfect letter in black,
Washed the smudged remains down the sink,
And dried my pen at the small of my back.
I was empty once; still am, to this day.
I once thought myself resigned, but I’ll try
To fill myself up again, anyway.
I’ll start to heal myself with music,
Surround myself in a melodic rain
Of sultry notes and minor keys.
I’ll play a stream, song after song,
And let each one soothe the pain.
I still feel like I’m just an empty shell,
Like if you hit me, I would sound hollow
And I’ve lost my heart forever, I think,
But it doesn’t mean I have to be empty,
Even if I spill every time I blink.
I finally filled up the empty black well,
Picked up the pen, and dipped it in ink
Today I started to write, once more.
Like finding a piece of myself I’d lost,
It ran me aground, and I ran ashore.
Like my footprints filling in with sand,
I don’t want to be empty anymore,
So I’ll start filling myself up again.