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Catching Air



I sit in a corner
and rock back and forth
trying to fill in
the spaces of my watch;
the stained bottle has no breath left
and the lips of the wine glass are cracked.

Onstage,
a woman strings her harp
with alphabets of her emotions
made of holes,
and a man sings lyrics without words
to please his mouth.
I listen
to the footsteps
fitting into the jigsaw of the carpet
but a pair
in whose wait
my perfume is rusting.

              [The double doors are too wide.]

I am but another segment of dust in the wind
licking heart shaped balloons
that taste bitter
and burst with their own hollowness.

Barefeet,
the dashes on the road
walk past endlessly -
a marathon where the finish line
is the edge of the Earth,
and there will be no crossbar
to hang on to:
I slip
into an open grave
and daylight is darkness
that pastes itself to my pale skin
erasing my consciousness.

            Streetlights flicker and fuse.


      [I doubt you would even rewrite me in candlelight.]







Author notes

Word - Empty
Image - http://fc48.deviantart.com/fs18/f/2007/158/d/4/empty_poem_by_the_psycrothic.jpg


(I think I need a better title)

A contest entry

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