(selfishly trying to get in the head of a heart who did not know how vastly it was loved)
there is a hole sometimes. a huge gaping hole that i feel, but don’t see. i claw at my chest. i feel my shirt and my skin. i feel the ribs wrapping around my heart. i wish that something could make this hole make sense. the searing heat of life in my veins against the stabbing cold of this expanse of nothingness. the pain that comes from inside. the rise and fall of my lungs when i feel like i am not breathing. it feels like nothing should be there. nothing is there. i am empty. i gets worse when i cry. when my tears flow down my face past my neck and pool in the center of my chest where a hole should be. as the sun rises i am angry that the night did not eat me alive. that it’s darkness did not devour me. instead it left me to live another day, clawing. scratching. scraping.