The unoccupied space is still there
The hallow of my heart, the bruise on my cognition
it still thinks about the missing piece;
six degrees, it trickles into my world
Like a mysterious waterfall;
I hear it rushing, but never see or touch it
Winehouse, Hoffman, Houston, Cobain, Plath, Wolfe,
wounded souls whose path was never traced
Far enough to ask
Why? Why…. is your hurt
so much worse
Than mine?
