Empty

Dear So and So,1

I do not have anything left to say to you. My wit and charm have left me. My shy humility has been replaced with a hauntingly pretty package that is as fearsome as it is lovely. It rapidly deflates whenever you touch it.
The words that emerge are hollowed echos, some that evaporate before they ever reach their destination.
Often oxygen used for each breath feels wasted and the plants around seem to wilt for the lack of giving back. In-fact all who occupy surrounding space seem to lose color and interest.
I am empty and used, even the passion has been misplaced. My heart was wrung and wrinkled, draped over a clothes line reeking of mildew. It is the aching empty of one who took but forgot to give back, for giving is the true secret to receiving and without it their is no medicine to heal the powerful poison of deceit.