I consist of too much rage
Wage wars inside my rib cage
Leave naught alive
That turns too strong to hide
If left unattended, prolonged
Yet the corpses keep piling up
Waiting to be reanimated
And when I show my softer side
They will deem it weakness
And I will drown in their numbers
As they finally come to
Break me.
her fingers kiss the black and white keys
the heart chambers pump to the lento tempo
water gushes in, and rushes against the walls
scabs from her mutilating thoughts shed off
the melancholy melody plays

her fingers invent the mellow rhythm
struggling to see through the pool in her gaze,
tears spill, forming a glistening trail to her chin
they drip into her lap in time with the chords
the melancholy melody plays
her fingers retreat from the tailored keys

sitting on the bench, she drinks the stillness

her heart devoid of scars, no more hurt inside
her eyelids dry, released anguish from her cries
she rises from the piano with less sorrow to hide
“You look drained, are you okay?”
I honestly have been full for so long that this emptiness is a relief.
I have been so full of emotions, of withheld words and unspoken speeches, of tears, of feelings, of love, of desires, of hopes, of never completed ideas.
I have always been so full that being empty seems almost impossible to me and yet it is an extremely liberating feeling, it gives me the impression of finally being able to make room for something else.
So in conclusion, yes they are probably empty but, for now, that’s okay.

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